


opening is just the start

by freezerjerky



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: After discovering that Newt is very much so himself and very much so not allowed to go free, Hermann takes matters into his own hands. This, naturally, leads to life as fugitives in a seaside village in the south of France, sharing a very small one bedroom cottage.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The incomparable lvslie has done a cute lil art for this work, which you can find [here.](http://lvslie.tumblr.com/post/178551455072/but-also-on-a-pure-ego-basis-if-any-part-of-you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's gotta have their own stab at fix-it fic, right? I wanted to take a slightly different approach and start off not with our hero saving the day and reviving his true love with a kiss but with...well, running away to France. 
> 
> Many thanks to [seeingrightly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly) for the beta and many thanks to you all for reading. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [pendragoff](http://pendragoff.tumblr.com/) for a variety of fandom and non-fandom content!
> 
> Chapter notes will be at the end of the chapter, please be mindful of any tags or warning. Explicit rating is for sexual content only.

After Newt is captured, it takes Hermann precisely thirty five days to be granted access to his old friend. This is about thirty five days too long and yet he’s not sure how to handle whatever may be on the other side of the door. 

He’s escorted down by one of the newer members of the PPDC, or rather what seems to be the equivalent of an American Marine. Everything’s changed so drastically in just this month, he can’t really keep up. The moment the world was saved, the governments swooped in, inserting whoever they damn well pleased in whatever vacancies they could find. It’s as though everyone had forgotten why the PPDC was formed in the first place.

In fact, he’s only been permitted to do this because of the backing of a man who represents what the PPDC truly stands for, and he’s more grateful by the moment for the compassion Jake Pentecost is capable of. Initially, Jake fought back on his insistence on visiting his friend, but eventually he started to advocate for him. A bit too strongly, after the first day he let Hermann know that Newt was asking for him.

Earlier that day, Jake had positioned himself by Hermann in the mess hall, a very pointed move, given that Hermann almost always ate alone.

“I’m gonna get you in to see Dr. Geiszler today,” Jake stated, as casually as he’d talk about the weather. “I think you need to see him.”

“Is he alright?” Hermann asks, alarm bells immediately sounding.

“He’s...alright is super objective when he’s been through what he has, but he has massive potential to be alright and he isn’t. And that’s sort of the issue. I think seeing you would be the best thing for him.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”

“He’s not giving us useful information anymore,” Jake says, but it feels like coded language to keep anyone from overhearing anything. “And he’s been asking for us to bring in some headphones or a book or something. He’s bored.”

Hermann’s first thought is that bored means dangerous, and that maybe he’s being thrown in as a plaything for a cruel hivemind. But Jake wouldn’t allow that now if he hasn’t for a month. No, he allows himself to hope that this could mean something positive, that maybe the request for the headphones or a book is just that, a hope for idle and human entertainment.

He’s been led to believe for several years that the room Newt is kept in has been abandoned, but it’s not, it’s a fully functional space, albeit set down a series of stairs like some evil villain’s lair. He supposes to these military types it’s more of an evil villain’s prison, but Hermann immediately knows that this was not the case, this is the prison of an innocent, or innocent adjacent man. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person who is sure he’s seen the real Newt in the past decade or maybe because he has to remain optimistic to keep from despair.

What he finds on the other side of the door is not what he’d expected in the least. Newt, his old friend, is strapped to the chair, looking more than a bit worse for wear. He’s staring forward, not quite unprocessing but looking profoundly bored. The hollowness in his eyes is terrifying but not because of its absence of humanity, but because of the excess.

“Good evening, Newton,” he greets. It feels stifled, but he’s not going to give away too much until he’s certain.

“Hermann, dude! It’s you,” Newt says, shifting his gaze towards him. Either the shadows are playing tricks on him, or there’s the remains of a bruise along his jawline. “I’ve been trying to get you in here for forever, but they weren’t listening.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been trying to come here sooner myself, but it appears our trusted PPDC is undergoing an overhaul that involves very buff military types.”

“I was wondering why that nurse seemed a bit formal,” Newt jokes. “Listen, I’ve been needing to… last time I saw you I was not really myself-” Newt pauses for very dramatic effect and this is a really bad joke, and Hermann really should scold him for it, “But I need to apologize.”

“You didn’t do that. You didn’t do any of it. Not truly.”  _ Assuming it’s actually you now _ , his mind supplies.

Hermann should really be questioning why he’s believing this so easily, as a man of science. There is no evidence before him that Newt will not suddenly snap and start shouting at him or threatening him, but he feels a connection he cannot bring himself to doubt. It’s the remembrance of something obscured, something he hasn’t realized has been obscured because he’s never experienced it before. He’s suddenly angry because he realizes that he’s, metaphorically, been locked out of a connection against his will. Possibly, probably, against Newt’s will as well.

“Dude, I get it, but I did. My body did that, and I’ve got to live with that for the rest of my life.”

“They allowed me to bring you some music.” Hermann extracts the outdated mp3 player from his pocket. They can’t risk giving Newt anything with an internet connection. “I hand selected some of the most obnoxious songs you love. Unfortunately, once the battery runs out, you will have to wait until I visit again to charge it.”

“Again? You’re coming again?” Newt asks with a frail optimism hanging on his words.

“Assuming I don’t do anything controversial,” Hermann states, trying to mask an evident disdain for the word, “I can come as often as every other day.”

“The newest form of torture,” Newt mutters to himself, just loud enough to be heard. He chuckles.

This is worrying, in several ways. Newt is not naturally a social creature in the sense that he needs consistent interactions with others, but he’s still the type of person who needs to be heard, especially for his ideas - both the brilliant and the idiotic. The choice of the word torture is another thing altogether that Hermann has to swallow and keep deep within himself, lest he decides to react violently.

“If you do not wish me to come, of course I can stay behind. There’s always work to do these days, and there’s actually new people in the lab,” Hermann explains.

“I bet you hate that. Remember that time they brought in that intern who -”

“Followed you around and thought you were a sensible role model, yes. Painfully well, and then after the intern exploded that spleen -”

“You filed the longest complaint of your career, which was very impressive.”

“There have been longer,” Hermann states coyly. “But somehow the subject of those managed to keep his job.”

They both smile at each other, and though it doesn’t quite reach either of their eyes, it feels like the most genuinely smile Hermann’s had in a long while. It’s easiest to banter like this, without talking about serious matters, both for the sake of keeping Newt’s spirits up and in case some horrible evil decides to rear its head abruptly. With each passing moment, Hermann doubts this possibility more and more.

When it’s time to leave, Hermann steps closer, helping to fix the headphones in Newt’s ears and carefully slipping the player into his hand. He lets his own hand linger around Newt’s for just a few moments. When was the last time he touched Newt and it was just Newt, uninterrupted? Was it before their drift a decade ago? Was it after? He finds himself squeezing Newt’s wrist, remembering the time he hopes is the last, just before Newt was offered his new position, so soon after they saved the world. Hermann squashes that memory and steps away, carefully concealing a blush. That was one night of their lives, fueled by a fresh confidence in mutual affections after being in each other’s heads. It was a revolutionary moment for him, in regards to intimacy, in regards to how fulfilling it feels to have an actualized affection for someone. It was also, in its execution, purely physical and fuelled by adrenaline and a desire to suddenly be divested of all pretenses and clothing. There was no discussion afterwards. Ten years apart changes everything, regardless.

 

As soon as he’s out of the room, Hermann has to keep himself from finding the nearest person and shouting. He has many questions. His first question is a solid  _ how  _ followed by a  _ why  _ and an even more resounding  _ what the hell are you doing with him and when are you going to let him free?  _ When he’s allowed himself to ask all three of these questions, the first two seem significantly less important.

Suddenly, it’s very important for him to be persistently annoying, to ask anyone he knows with any power what they’re doing about this. This makes him no friends, as everyone who has any power is busy planning an attack on the Precursors and will gladly remind Hermann that he’s supposed to be helping in this cause as well. He is, but he can have more than one concern in his life. He doesn’t insist that he knows the truth, he does not insist that Newt walks free, he collects all the information he needs to make his decision.

When he speaks to Shao, who he’s not even sure should be here still, she gives him surprisingly sympathetic looks but continues with her work. He supposes in her own way she’s trying to make right a wrong she allowed to happen. Most likely, despite the work they’ve done together, she is not going to be his best ally in this. It’s unwise for her to get tangled in this and Newt was far from her favorite employee even at his best. He understands.

Young Jake Pentecost gives him marginally more sympathy. Despite how quickly he’s been forced up the ranks, in many ways Hermann supposes he’s being forced to comply with higher powers so he can do the work he knows needs done. It’s all well to be a hero and give bold speeches, but the world is run by men who think they’re more important than they are wearing a series of over-priced and ill fitting suits.. Still, he can get Jake alone to talk and steal snippets of information from him and the facts he knows are these:

The Precursors’ hold on Newt has apparently been broken.

Jake does not know how this has been broken. No one will tell him how.

There are rumors about how it was done and none are pleasant.

The PPDC shows no indication of letting Newt go free, ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title is from "3 Rounds and a Sound" by Blind Pilot- which I listened to on repeat while writing/editing and I encourage you to give a listen to.
> 
> This fic does technically take place in the same universe as [They Told Me Nothing New](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497131) but that is FAR from required reading for this, which was intended fully as a stand-alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_two months later_

The sounds from the living room become louder with each passing moment. Hermann's used to it by now, truth be told. It's only grating on his nerves because he doesn't understand how anyone can sleep so late in the morning. Of course, he's also familiar with the escalation of the noise, the snoring interspersed with talking nonsense until the nonsense gets louder. He sits slowly up in bed. There will be shouting soon, and it's best to be prepared to curb that. Hermann's had over a decade to cope with his own nightmares, but Newt's had only a few months and the additional residual trauma of something else setting up business in his head.

He stretches carefully. The mattress is not very firm and it's easy enough for him to feel every year of his age acutely. It's hard to imagine how Newt's been managing on the couch, but he insists on that specific sleeping arrangement. When they inevitably have to pack up and move somewhere else, Hermann will attempt to find a place where they can afford two bedrooms. Or a lie that affords them two bedrooms. The current arrangement  helps with the image that they're a middle aged couple looking for a quieter life but does not give them much room to be apart.

The correct term would be, of course, fugitives who are looking for a quiet life. Really, he muses, carefully slipping his feet into slippers, there's no reason to get hung up on technicalities. He knows that he's done what he feels right and if this all ends with them both in separate prison cells for the rest of their lives, he'll be grateful for the short time of freedom he's given to his friend.

 

Hermann cooks breakfast in an attempt to wake Newt naturally from his slumber. It's often jarring for Newt to wake abruptly and ends with him being very confused or even frightened. It's best to allow him to slowly process his reality and know that he's safe and fully himself. The problem is, Hermann's not particularly good at breakfast and "making breakfast" becomes an ordeal of "swearing at toast."

"Whoa, Herms," Newt mumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen. "I think you've burnt the toast. Again."

He grumbles to himself. "Brilliant observation, Newton."

"Let me handle breakfast. A man can only eat burnt toast so many times before he starts a toast revolution"

Newt dramatically rolls up his sleeves and inserts himself in front of the kitchen workspace. Hermann takes the chance to step back and drink his morning cup of tea, eager to be amused by the experience. At first, he’s distracted by how charming Newt looks with his bedhead, but then he notices that Newt is squinting at the toaster. It could be morning bleariness or it could be the natural progression of poor eyesight. He's read about the likelihood of vision worsening after any sort of corrective surgery, which he's certain Newt has had in the past decade, and he knows that surgery cannot prevent the natural tendency of eyesight to worsen over time. They'll have to go to the optometrist soon, which can leave a paper trail. It's risky but necessary.

"I'm going to the market this morning," Hermann says at length. "We've nothing else to eat."

"I'll come with you. Practice parlez vousing my fr`ancais, you know?"

"No, I do not know."

Despite the fact that they've found themselves as complete outsiders just outside of a very small village on the southern coast of France, no one really acknowledges them. They've gone with an honest approach in settling there- telling everyone that they're two Germans who've chosen to retire early. Nothing about this is necessarily untrue. Except retiring early typically means you have more money stashed away than they do. Or that you're not currently wanted by a massive and heavily armed organization for escaping from a high security cell. If they were younger men, he'd have found them a place to go that was isolated, remote, and more hidden. The truth is, though, he's not sure that sort of place would help in Newt's recovery or his own care routine. Nor does he have any desire to ever be too far from the sea.

In a lot of ways this would have been his ideal future, but twenty years down the line when he feels he's worked all the years a man can work. In a lot of ways, he feels like he should count himself lucky to be living by the sea with someone he cares so deeply about. That was not likely to be his future in most any other version of reality. He'll stay here like this until he senses danger, then it's off to somewhere else.

Half the village is at the market in the morning. It's quaint how the market serves as a social hub for these people. It's also a reminder of how much parts of the world have remained unchanged despite all of the damage and destruction he's seen firsthand. He's made a list and they split it as they wander the stalls. Nonetheless, he keeps an eye on Newt at all times. There's an energy to him that still sends off warning bells in Hermann’s head and heart, like he's going to create something brilliant or disastrous (or both) at any given moment. Furthermore, while Newt is very confident in crowds, he’s very mindful of the way Newt will shrink back in the presence of people larger than himself, especially men or the way he’ll avoid ever being too closely contained by the crowds around him.

"These flowers are beautiful today," someone muses behind him. He turns to see an older woman, their closest neighbor. She likes to speak to him in their shared language, English, because she's been practicing for a trip to England. "Don't you think your husband would like some?"

A blush creeps up his cheeks, but he bites his tongue. This is a common assumption that anyone who has bothered to notice them has made. It's fair, given that they're two men of a certain age living alone in a rather small cottage.

"If he wants some he's capable of buying them himself," he answers, almost too curtly. He has to recover from this. "I prefer something that's more permanent."

"Yes, yes." She pats his arm. "But it's a beautiful day and you are in love, so why not buy some flowers?"

He's given a few moments to articulate a further response when he's saved by Newt waving at them. They both awkwardly wave back and the woman walks away before he jogs over. Newt has the requested bag of apples in one hand and a prettily boxed pastry that was definitely not on the list in the other. They’re living off the very limited funds of what was once Hermann’s retirement fund (withdrawn in two large lump sums a short time before they made their departure) and very few indulgences are allowed in the budget. At some point Hermann will have to tell Newt to not buy expensive French pastries, but today is not the day.

"Is that the lady from down the street?" he asks. "She was flirting pretty hard there. Does she have a big crush, you old lady killer?"

"She thinks we're married, so I doubt that she does."

"Ah," Newt pauses, musing for a moment. "Should I go and tell her that we're actually living together in sin?"

Hermann wants to have the ability to comment, to say something cutting, but all he can do is laugh. This is what it feels like to, despite being afraid, despite needing to heal, have a heart that's as close to full as possible. He can't possibly conceive why he would need anything to change.

"Probably for the best everyone continues to think we're involved. Romantically," Hermann adds once he's had his laugh. Because he can never dwell too long on the good in his life, lest it slips away. "Everyone here knows our cottage only has the one bedroom."

"That's fine by me. It's not like I'm keen on going on the prowl with...everything going on."

He nods. "Yes, it's probably for the best we keep to ourselves as much as possible."

"My sentiments exactly. Plus, there are worse people in the world for people to assume I’m married to. I’m content with just you."

He knows that eventually Newt is going to become restless. It doesn't take twenty years of knowing the man to know that he needs constant stimulation. Truth be told, he's not too different himself, he's just better at handling stagnation. Or he's much better at repression. For now, the quiet is good for recovery. He's only hoping he's doing well enough. This is the type of work that needs therapy and presumably therapy by a highly trained expert, but they can't risk it. The eye doctor may be too risky in in itself. Renting a cottage is risky. These choices have to be calculated and he prays he's using his skills to their full potential.

 

The next morning, he doesn't manage to wake up before the shouting starts. He fumbles out of his bed to the living room, immediately moving to shake Newt awake. His eyes are alarmingly, unnervingly cloudy for just a moment before they focus on Hermann. He looks a wreck with bedhead and an unnervingly pale face. This is what he looks like at his most unguarded despite all best efforts otherwise and it feels almost uncomfortably intimate to see another person like this.

"Shit," Newt exhales. "It was- fuck." He shifts on the couch, making room for Hermann to sit before he buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry I woke you, dude."

Hermann settles besides him, resting a hand on his back. Newt flinches for just a moment, but allows the touch. "It's alright. I anticipate this." Admittedly, he can't really anticipate this at 5 am when he is fast asleep, but he knows this is part of the process. The irony is that in the weeks since they've been here, his own nightmares have diminished dramatically. The fear feels more palpable in his daily life, but he can sleep through the night. Newt's nightmares, though, are fresh and embedded deep.

"Sometimes I think to myself that I'm so okay with the way my life is now, but then the past is just there and it stays, you know?" he muses. "Like even if I wanted to be in denial, my brain's not letting me."

"We're not living in denial, Newton. We're working on your-"

"Recovery. I know. You say that, like, all the time."

"Because it's happening all the time."

Newt looks like he's going to say something, but instead he rests a hand on Hermann's knee. The last time this happened, he asked for Hermann to leave, but that doesn't seem to be the case this morning. There's no need to voice the invitation to stay, because he's not going anywhere unless he's asked to leave anyway.

The silence between them is deafening but oddly comforting. The first few times Newt woke from these dreams, he’d continue to shout and insist he would not be touched. Now, he’s fine when he realizes where he is and will usually allow delicate, supportive gestures. Hermann closes his eyes, tuning into the sound of breathing beside him. Newt is becoming calmer and hopefully falling back asleep. Without realizing, though, he's the one who succumbs to the call of sleep, drifting as he dwells on the sensation of a thumb grazing against his thigh. This is not the touch of two platonic friends, he’s very aware that even Newt must know this, but he doesn’t want to deny it and so he allows it to continue.

When he wakes, he's laying on the couch and his face is pressed to the pillow. An attempt was clearly made and then abandoned to pull the blanket over him, which is an effort he appreciates nonetheless. Judging by the amount of light in the room, it must be late morning. He's surprised he managed to fall back asleep for so long. Sitting up, he notices that his cane is propped against the small coffee table. In the early hours, he had left it in his haste.

"Newton?" He carefully sits back up, taking the time to stretch as best as he can.

"Kitchen," Newt calls back, very clearly with a mouthful of food.

As he stands, he catches sight of the fact that his glasses are also on the coffee table. Newt is not a natural caretaker, but he certainly tries nonetheless. In the kitchen, he's greeted by the sight of a haphazard tower of American style pancakes on the table (mostly unburnt) and Newt squinting at a French newspaper that he picked up at the market yesterday.

"I'm calling the optometrist today," he says as he settles across from Newt at the table. "You're having trouble seeing."

"Yeah, apparently the embodiment of all evil really likes eye surgeries," Newt mumbles around his bite of pancake. “Makes you look real cool with the douchey sunglasses.”

"Finish chewing before you speak, Newton."

Newt, in his forty plus years of social experience, takes this opportunity to dramatically swallow as though he's been put upon by being asked to finish his bite before talking. "Happy?"

"Very. Why are you reading a French newspaper?"

"For the news."

"Your French is atrocious and this is yesterday's news."

"I'm trying to blend in, Hermann. Be the boring German couple who's come here to spend their golden years snuggled up. Minus the snuggling, unfortunately.”

He knows Newt is joking and doesn't mean this bitterly, but the truth of the word "boring" stings nonetheless. Neither of them have ever desired a quiet life and neither of them should be forced to contend with it yet. It's worse for Newt, he reminds himself. Newt has lost a decade of time he could be working and creating new and wonderful things. He hasn't had ten years to mellow. No, it hits him with the full weight that the man across from him is so very much still the man he knew a decade ago, just with baggage and trauma he can't try to understand. He himself has changed, but Newt has become a fixed object. It's a lot to contend with after a decade of thinking his closest friend has become someone completely new, but the truth is Hermann's had this time to change and he has.

"Something wrong?" Newt asks, looking up from his paper. Hermann realizes then he must have a strange look on his face.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to ascertain which pancake hasn't been badly maimed so that I can have some breakfast."

"I'll lick all of them if you don't choose now."

"Mature as always." Hermann gently plucks one of the pancakes from the stack and moves it to the plate Newt has set out for him. "Do you care to share what your nightmare was about this morning?"

"No. No, I do not care to share."

Hermann frowns but does not press the issue. He's tried to ask several times about Newt's dreams, or the past few years, or even the time in the custody of the PPDC. Each time Newt's given a refusal. It can't be beneficial for recovery to keep these sorts of things bottled up so tightly, but Hermann's also not going to force the issue. Worse than Newt not sharing now is the prospect of spending so much of his time in the company of someone who doesn't feel comfortable confiding in him. By now Newt should know he's got a standing invitation to share anything he may be feeling. Hermann’s left, instead, to make his own guesses in the context of implied words or fears.

"Well, that couch is very lumpy. You should give the bed a try, maybe it'll help with your sleep."

"There's no need, wouldn't want to displace you."

"I've slept on worse. We can switch between the two, if necessary. As long as I can sometimes prop up my leg, it’s not really an issue."

"We could share, for the real couple experience. I’ve seen you naked before and everything, there’s no other boundaries between us.”

And here are the jokes to deflect from any serious thoughts. It's not only that the jokes don't diffuse any tension, but they sting when they're about something like this. The life they have together in this place is...adequate for what it is, but Hermann can sometimes feel in the pit of his stomach the desire for something more. They’ve been given a tease of the one thing that would make this life palatable but he’s never had the courage to ask if it’s something Newt also desires.

"You kick in your sleep," Hermann adds, boldly enough to test the boundaries. "And you snore."

"Both fair points." Newt has a strange, almost wistful look on his face as he speaks.

The response is beyond neutral. No humor, no hint of flirtation, no sting even. He wishes he could peel back even one layer of what Newt is thinking to understand if any sort of desire remains, or if it's selfish of him to even wonder. He knows it existed ten years ago, but you can only hold onto a singular memory for so long, especially when it's drowned of shared moments with someone. He's said he's more than content with this and he’s going to do his very best to mean it. Then comes something worse than doubt, something painful dawning on him. Maybe Newt isn’t joking to deflect from the truth, but to lead Hermann to it.

 

When Newt's glasses arrive, they go together to have them fitted. Hermann teases him, but smiles to himself when he notes that Newt has chosen thick rimmed black glasses. If the years weren't so obvious in the lines of his face, it would be almost like looking into the past. Newt stares at his reflection for a long while, alternating between smiling and frowning. Hermann suspects that he’s having similar thoughts about the past, half expecting to see someone left behind, but also pleased to see the traces of that man in his current face.

"How do I look?" Newt asks, trying to make a rather dramatic face.

"You look...more like yourself than you have."

"Is that good? Bad?"

"Completely up for interpretation. You look like yourself and you're the one who can decide whether you want that."

"Well, I do want that. Otherwise I'd have chosen some flashy glasses, or some old man ones I can wear around my neck."

Hermann rolls his eyes. "It's practical when I don't need to wear them all the time."

Newt smiles at him. "Let's go for a walk along the beach. Try out staring at some of the pebbles and get these babies lost at sea."

He doesn't argue because he likes the beach. He also likes Newt but that's of no consequence. It's not like he has a choice in the matter when he's forced to interact with him consistently. At the beach, he's free to feel the immensity of the ocean and the connection to his past. It's true that it's not the same exact ocean he's used to living so close to, but there’s still something so profoundly poetic about living along the shoreline. It makes him less afraid of how little he’ll be doing with the next big conflict happens. This is a different body of water altogether, he knows, and the beach is some ornate-seeming feature covered in irregular pebbles.

When they walk along the beach, Newt stays close to him. It's not the easiest terrain to walk with the cane, but he's more than capable of doing it on his own. That doesn't mean Newt doesn't keep his hand hovering directly behind his lower back on their descent down towards the shore. This is something old and familiar, Newt's desire to guide him around and gently nudge him when he's doing something awkward or wrong. Hermann loves it to the point of almost craving it, but it's hard to articulate in a way that he can put in words to tell him.

"D'you think it's weird that we're not, you know, terrified of the ocean after everything?" Newt muses aloud. "We're clearly madmen, craving to be near it."

"I think those who choose not to be near the ocean are madmen. It's the most intense part of the natural world and it holds so many secrets that we're just now beginning to answer. Also, I'd prefer to be closer rather than farther away in the case of any future attacks."

"Madmen, Herms. Complete and utter madmen."

"Then so be it. I think there are things, after all we’ve been through that I find more terrifying than the water and I don’t think you care one ounce for being called mad.”

He catches a glimpse of Newt then, processing the thought. He instinctively touches his temple and Hermann wants so badly to crawl into his head and figure out what’s hurting him in there. But that’s unfair, after what the precursors have done to him, after what he suspects the PPDC has done...

Hermann stops to face the water and Newt does not quite recover in time, his hand grazing along Hermann's lower back. The touch, even through the thick material of his cardigan feels alarmingly intimate in a way he’s craving desperately these days. For a moment, he's not sure if Newt’ll recover his footing at all, but he manages to steady himself without any additional touch. Newt is a naturally tactile person and he can't imagine what's prompting this hesitation of physical contact when he seems to be craving it.

"How much longer do you think we can stay here?"

This is not the type of probability he's good at. Everything about the situation has too many unknowns and he's let his own senses of both fear and hope interfere with any mathematical reasoning.

"It's hard to say. I think at least another month. The PPDC is hoping they can find us quietly before they start publishing our faces around the world. They're too embarrassed to admit they lost the man who tried to end the world right now, but in time they'll realize we've truly outsmarted them and become desperate. Then we'll move to a city where we can hide ourselves amongst a larger crowd." This is not pure conjecture, but it is secondhand information that he’s getting very irregularly.

"But have we outsmarted them at all?"

"We've bought ourselves time, which is all I could have hoped for."

"For the record, if they find us or come close to finding us, I'm turning myself in."

"You're doing no such thing." Hermann refuses to even acknowledge this as an option..

"I am. I have value to them, at least for a while longer. You are… a disgraced hero of sorts."

"So you're saying they'd what - shoot me on sight?"

"Well, not necessarily on sight..." Newt trails off and there’s a teasing smile on his face, the sort that makes Hermann wish he were bolder.

"Do you ever think before you open your mouth?"

"You'd be surprised," Newt chuckles, as though he's concealing some secret.

Hermann eyes Newt. He’s refused for a long while to tell him that his shirt is actually a soap advertisement, because it suits him well. Even the jacket he’s chosen to wear over it adds to the charm, though it’s faded denim and ill fitting. He knows full well that Newt can see him stare for a moment too long, but he cannot bring himself to care. “You look...good right now.”

“Oh, do I?” Newt’s tone is teasing but very pleased.

“I mean you look like your old self, with your ugly t-shirt and your jeans and those glasses. I didn’t much like those hideous suits you’d been wearing.”

“I’m not sure I’m really a fan myself. Don’t think that fashion decision was on me. For what it’s worth, though, I like the way you’re dressing now too. It’s very good to see you...less formal. Look at you, your shirt isn’t even buttoned to the top.”

Hermann feels oddly self conscious about this tiny sliver of skin revealed by his shirt, but there’s nothing to be done. Newt’s looking at his throat and for a moment he wonders if this was the guilt from choking him seeping through, but he notices the small gesture of Newt biting on his lower lip and suddenly he feels very warm. For the briefest moment, he imagines Newt’s mouth in that precise spot and, while he stamps it down firmly, he’s determined to never wear his shirts buttoned to the top again.

They walk again. This time, Newt does rest his hand on the small of Hermann's back, only for a few brief moments before he pulls away. The sensation of touch is so very fragile and important in such a remote, touch-starved region of their lives.

“You can keep your hand there,” Hermann says. “At least until we’re off the beach.”

If he has to feign having trouble walking to allow this touch they both want, so be it. Newt places his hand back on his lower back and does not remove it until they’re almost back to the cottage.

Once at home, they both settle in for a quiet evening. It's not long after they're inside that it starts to rain, the softest droplets against the windows as they read in what is mostly silence on the couch. Newt has his headphones in and Hermann can hear the distant whine of Radiohead playing. Nostalgia continues to be a powerful force in both of their lives and for Newt this seems to present itself by listening to music from his youth. Eventually, he tugs out his headphones and dramatically casts the book he's reading aside. He made it longer in the evening than Hermann had anticipated. When Hermann looks over at him, he rather dramatically drapes himself over the couch, resting a foot gingerly across Hermann's knees.

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm bored out of my mind, Herms."

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm reading, Newton."

Newt sighs, a bit too dramatically for a man of his age. "I need something to do."

"Reading is something to do."

"With my hands. Something physically to do."

"Play the guitar you insisted on purchasing," he suggests, in lieu of the less appropriate suggestion that immediately comes to mind. "Or clean the mess you've made in the kitchen after dinner."

"That's not what I mean."

Hermann very calmly closes his book. "We cannot set up a lab in the kitchen."

"I know that," he exclaims, abruptly sitting up. "I just need to feel like I'm doing something that means something. Not just sitting here and living my life like everyone else."

"Sitting here and living your life is your only option now. It's our life and you have to become accustomed to that."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I beg your pardon? You forget that I've left all of my research behind as well in all of this."

"Yeah, congrats. You left your work behind and now you’re living a life of leisure. I get it, but don’t you see? I haven't been able to do a damn thing I wanted to do for so long, and now I'll never have the chance again."

"I'm sorry this is the condition of your life right now, but there is no better alternative,” Hermann answers. In his mind’s eye, Newt is sitting on the edge of the couch pouting dramatically, and his body language suggests that he’d like to be doing just that.

"That doesn't mean I can't feel like garbage," Newt defends. "It's just a big mess and I want to be able to do something that means something."

"You can't, not in that way. In time we can discuss options for returning to work, but that will be several years in the future." Assuming there is a future for either of them or, truth be told, the world.

Newt rolls his eyes at this and for a moment Hermann thinks that will be the end of it, but of course that's never the situation. No, there's always going to be some sort of profound disagreement because that's how this has always gone.

"Do you even know how to feel the most basic sympathy?" he snaps. "I'm drowning here, Herms. Drowning like this, when I can't even be myself. I have to keep my fucking sleeves down every time I leave my own home and I have to pretend like I'm a boring married man who doesn't do anything stimulating in my whole damn life."

"What do you think the other option is, then?" Hermann retorts. "You're in a cell all night, strapped in a chair all day, and if you're lucky you get a visitor once every few days?" He supposes what hurts the most in this is that he’s been trying to be sympathetic, that he’s been trying to listen and understand Newt and there’s still a disconnect. Or he’s looking for answers that Newt doesn’t want to give and ignoring what is directly in front of him.

"I'm allowed to be mad about something just because the alternative is worse! It's not just black and white, sometimes you're stuck in a shitty grey life in a shitty grey cottage."

"This is the life you have, and the life you will have. If you have a problem with it, then by all means try this on your own."

Hermann grips the edge of the couch and stands carefully. He's not going to sit here and listen to Newt berate him for wanting to remain positive in the face of the only decent reality they could have.

"And then what would I do? I couldn't talk to anyone about my actual life." Newt shakes his head. "Then again, it might be better than dealing with a steel faced brick wall all day long!"

"I'm turning in for the night until you decide to act like an adult, Newton. Good night."

"A steel faced brick wall," he repeats. Hermann is refusing to fall for the bait and goes directly to his room. It's still early for him to sleep, but he doesn't want to sit in the room with a petulant Newt for a moment longer.

He hears what he's certain is the slam of kitchen cabinets once in his room, but refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he tugs off his cardigan, checking in the pockets for change or loose scraps, as he does most nights. (These are often things Newt drops, or things he does not have time to put in the proper place until he’s putting everything in place for the evening at the end of the day.) There's a scrap of paper in his pocket that he doesn't recall putting there. He pulls it out and unfolds it, squinting at the words in the low light of his bedroom. Hermann huffs and fumbles with his glasses for a few moments. Then, holding out the paper, he starts to read. The handwriting is familiar to him, almost as familiar as his own and surprisingly crisp.

_Hermann-_

_Bet this takes you way back, right? It's been really awkward putting things into words these days, but I've been thinking about something and I gotta tell you. A few days ago, we were sitting at the kitchen table and you were judging my pancakes and I was trying to read a paper in a language I did not understand. Anyway, you were doing that thing you do when you try to flirt by being mean to me (yeah, I've know about that for at least fifteen years.) Anyway, you got this really sad look on your face when I didn't flirt by being mean back at you (I'm assuming you've also known about this for fifteen years?) Really anyway, I didn't have anything to say because I was thinking about you sleeping on the couch that morning and the way your eyelashes look when you sleep and how soft you look in a way you don't when you're awake._

_The point is I'm really, really into you and I think we both know that and have known that for a long time. There was sort of that time after we saved the world and all that. This doesn't have to change anything, I guess. I just needed to let you know eventually, after all you've done for me. That sounds sappy. I wish I'd told you this in words and not just actions a long time ago. (The saved the world sex was really, really good though and I’m really sorry I wasn’t all there to tell you I wanted to do it again and again and again.)_

_-Newt_

He folds the letter and places it neatly on his bureau as he continues to change. It's strange to feel this immense, long simmering thing spelled out in actual words and he's afraid to re-read in case it turns out this is just wish fulfillment. He's unsure of how to feel, but even more so unsure of what to do. The heated feeling that's extending from his stomach outward tells him to go to the living room and tell Newt that he's read the letter. His feet feel like lead, though. They've just been arguing and he doesn't want this tainted with disagreement. Part of him wants to keep this feeling to himself, in case whatever occurs ends up...not very pleasant at all Furthermore, there has to be a reason this has been shared in a note and not verbally. He doesn't want to ruin the best friendship he's ever had because he reacted hastily to a letter of romantic interest. This has to be handled very delicately, and Newt hasn't always been the best at gentle handling, so he will have to take the lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "small coastal town in France" is not based specifically on any town in modern or France of the past. The regular market is based on a real market in Antibes...which is in southern France, of course!


	3. Chapter 3

This morning, Hermann is testing the limit of how long he can stay in bed. It's still raining and he enjoys the chance to indulge in a lie-in, just this once. While he understands the importance of sticking to a routine, he has to admit that his life doesn't have to adhere to a schedule anymore. He listens for Newt, but hasn't heard anything worrying from the living room. What he does hear is the sound of a guitar being gently strummed from through the wall. Of course Newt remembers the guitar after Hermann mentions it and of course it'll become a new obsession lasting for several weeks or longer. It's worth it if it means Newt is entertained for some time.

Hermann is dwelling on the note from the night before. He's not sure what specifically prompted it or how long it has been in his pocket- he supposes Newt had opportunity on the beach. It would certainly explain the bad mood from the night before, since he may have expected him to find it sooner. The need to point out Hermann's apartment lack of sympathy, which was a newly re-introduced concept to their fights, makes more sense if Newt is feeling suddenly not just upset and bored but rejected. Usually Newt kept away from such low-hanging fruit in serious debates. Usually.

He takes his time getting ready in the morning, gently stretching and preparing to face the day. In some ways it's just another day and in others it's a brave new world. In preparation, he spent half of his remaining night sitting up and trying to articulate the correct reply. He seems so full of emotions and yet so devoid of the right thing to say. The truth is, while he has little doubt of either of their feelings for each other being anything but genuine, he’s also aware that they are currently all the other has in the world. If things would go spectacularly wrong, they would still have to live with each other for the remainder of their time as free men. And perhaps when he’s Newt’s only emotional support, it’s not best to become so deeply entangled in his romantic and sexual life. There’s something so oddly acceptable about knowing he’s in love with Newt and living with him at a distance. But he did that before, didn’t he? He brought him close and then let him slip away, and he cannot fathom risking that again.

On his way to the kitchen, he passes Newt on the couch, pointedly placing his note on the coffee table before he leaves the room. It's difficult not to dwell on listening to the sounds in the next room, but he does hear the guitar cease for a few moments. Then it abruptly starts again. He's not sure what to make of that reaction, it's not one of the ones he'd anticipated. If it was an outright bad reaction it would be one thing, but the lack of an answer breeds an anxious feeling in his chest and he can't shake it until he has a definitive answer.

Still, he makes breakfast all the same. This is just another day, he reminds himself, regardless of anything that may or may not occur. Nothing is going to break the gentle peace he's created here in this sanctuary, at least not anything involving himself or his friend. There's too much of a threat of the outside world coming in and tearing this apart to be the agent of destruction himself. He's especially not going to let feelings be the thing to disrupt his peaceful world. Every morning he possibly can, he’ll almost burn the toast and make two pots of tea even if they only drink the one.

Newt appears when breakfast is mostly over and Hermann is reading through the paper.

"So..." Newt begins, sliding into the chair across from him. "I'm assuming you've read the note." He taps his fingers nervously on the table.

"I have, yes."

"Good. That's good that you've read that." He clears his throat. "And agree. Or rather, it's reciprocal, right?"

"I think that much should be obvious to you at this point in time, Newton."

"Good. Great! So are we-" he pauses. "Are we together now?"

"I think trying to settle on a singular an abrupt change in our behavior that signals romantic involvement would be rather difficult at this stage in our lives. We cohabitate. We share all of our meals together and frequently go into public spaces together."

"Oh, I can think of a few abrupt changes that could really make it clear we're shaking things up." Newt waggles his brow a bit too dramatically at this, as though his statement was remotely subtle.

Hermann feels himself start to blush, and feels foolish like he's a lovestruck teenager. Only that's thirty years past and he should have more composure in these situations.

"We have previously done what you're implying."

"For one night. Over a decade ago now, that's not exactly the same."

"So you'd like to do that again?" He stares down at the table. For some reason, as much as he’s been craving just that, he’s feeling a strange hesitation on the subject.

"Yes! Many, many, many times. Many places. Many...there's not really any other ways to qualify but you get it."

"I do understand your point, yes. But I believe that is typically something that a relationship builds up to."

"You've said it yourself, to be fair. There's not really much to change to make this a relationship. We live together, we go to a market almost every morning and the neighbor lady tries to give you romance advice.”

"Yes, yes." He waves his hand. "But we've still just begun. There's no need to rush into physical intimacy."

The truth is that he wants to sleep with Newt and he wants to do it right away. But the other truth is he doesn't want it to be something that feels contracted, he wants it to be organic. Everything, despite the joy he's feeling, is awkward and stifled. He's trying to be respectful of Newt's boundaries that he's confessed his feelings in a note when he should have been bolder. One of them has to take the lead, and he understands what it actually means to take the lead in this. He’s made an error. He feels oddly foolish and there's no way to fix this quickly or easily. Or maybe there is and now he's just being a coward. Or maybe he’s afraid of something he can’t put a finger on..

“But is there a reason not to?” Newt contests.

“Can you please not press this, Newton? I would like to make sure we’re doing this correctly.” And that may be the crux of the issue for him- the fear of making an error. The fear of hurting Newt in an unexpected way, or of them communicating poorly.

“I don’t think there’s a correct way to be with someone in this way,” Newt explains. “I mean, we’ve known each other for half of our lives at this point, I’m not going to go anywhe-” He stops himself and Hermann suspects that Newt thinks he’s found an answer.

“That’s not it, I’m not afraid we’re going to rehash what’s happened in the past. But now you don’t really have anywhere to go if you do change your mind.”

“I’m not going to. I was possessed for a decade of my life and still wanted you.”

Hermann’s feeling marginally better, but there’s still something holding him back and he can’t articulate it as well as he’d like, maybe because it reveals truths about both of them he does not want open on the table. He reaches for Newt’s hand across the table, taking it in his own and rubbing his thumb along the back of it.

“I’m just not ready right now,” he says quietly. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” A decade, if he’s going to be precise, but as romantic as the idea is to him, it still feels oddly embarrassing to him.

“Okay. I wasn’t about to, you know, beg you to take me right here and right now at the breakfast table.” Newt smiles easily at him and he oddly feels that, if Newt asked him just that, saying no would break his heart. “Unless that’s what’s going to work on you, of course.”

Hermann shakes his head. “Certainly not with breakfast still on the table. Why don’t we finish and then I can listen to you badly attempt to play the guitar?”

“Yeah, alright. That sounds good. But it’s not bad, I’m doing just fine.”

“Oh, of course, darling.”

That final word, oddly unintentionally wrought from Hermann’s mouth, seems to bring peace to the rest of the afternoon. He files away both how it feels passing through his lips and the impact of using it on Newt for future reference.

 

It's honestly unnerving how little changes between them. Hermann is no expert on interpersonal relationships, but he's fairly certain this is not how things should play out. They go to the market and walk just a bit closer and share more easy smiles throughout their days, but otherwise it's all alarmingly the same. After half a week of this, he’s beyond frustrated. There’s some signals that are being horrifically crossed and as respectful as he is attempting to be of Newt’s boundaries, he’s too sensible of a man to feel like this is doing anything but wasting their time. That is not how he wants to feel about what is likely the most pivotal relationship of his adult life. He decides to experiment and purchases a singular bottle of wine one afternoon, slipping away for just half an hour while Newt is trying to teach himself a new song on his guitar. After a light dinner, he stands from the table and returns, brandishing the wine.

"What do you say?" he asks, quite pleased with himself.

"I don't want to drink too much," Newt answers, surprisingly wary. "Just a glass."

"Oh, I didn't mean to have more than one myself."

He fetches two mugs, their only drinking vessels, and fills them both halfway with the wine. Newt uses this as a signal to stand as well and collect his own mug. Usually Hermann insists on cleaning the dinner dishes up immediately after, but tonight he lets them sit as they move to the living room. He's hoping this will give the impression of romantic intentions and evoke something similar to a date. They're on their separate sides of the couch. Newt is very pointedly angled towards him as he rests his head on his hand, which has to be a good sign for the evening.

"I've forgotten how nice it is to share a drink with someone," Newt says and it's meant to be a simple statement but it feels profoundly sad.

"We'll have to do this more often, then. Perhaps even outside of the cottage."

"Do you mean literally outside or are you finally asking me on a date?"

"The second- the second option." Hermann swallows hard. Of course he meant the second option, if his tongue would cooperate with the thoughts in his head.

"I love that I have this ability to make you suddenly nervous, no more mister cool, calm, and collected."

"You take me off guard. Don't read anything very much into it."

"I like it. That's all I'm saying." Newt definitely consciously shifts closer after he says this and places his wine aside for good measure. "The other day I was...thrilled, I guess, but also a bit disappointed in...myself. I didn't know what to do after the note, and I had even less of an idea what the hell to do when you treated my proposition like a negotiation."

"I didn't want to negatively impact your recovery process by doing anything suddenly out of your control."

"Hey, part of healing is letting me be normal. Part of being normal is whatever the fuck we're going to do."

"I just wanted my intentions to be clear." He’s right, thought. Newt doesn’t flinch when he touches him, Newt is also very vocal about pretty much anything, so there’s no reason to suspect he won’t share the moment he doesn’t like something.

"Oh, I get it," Newt teases. "You wanted to make it super duper clear that you wanted to be my boyfriend and hold my hand and...other stuff. But you haven't even done any of that."

"I have to admit, I do have some hesitations about the word boyfriend."

Newt laughs outright at that and Hermann feels uneasy and flushes ever so slightly out of embarrassment. Maybe he's said something foolish or wrong.

"I don't care what you choose to call me, so long as I'm yours. But of course you have to be contrary,” Newt says, but he’s smiling just a bit.

"Oh, well- alright. Then I suppose the best choice would be partn-"

"Hermann. Dude. Honey. Baby. Whatever you want me to call you, I don't care. I need you to step out of your head for just a few moments and kiss me." To further make his point, Newt gingerly lifts Hermann’s wine cup and moves it safely to the coffee table.

Admittedly, his first instinct is to protest the idea of a middle aged man being called baby by a partner. His second and far better instinct is to actually listen to Newt for once and kiss him. He leans in, supporting himself by placing a hand on Newt’s leg, and presses his lips against Newt’s As far as kisses go, it's an awkward one because they're both out of practice and a bit too eager to get it right. That doesn't really matter to Hermann when he takes the chance to cup Newt's cheek and feels such a lightness as he hasn't allowed himself to feel in such a long time, and this time it’s genuine and not his way of convincing himself that everything will be alright.

They kiss like this for some time, nothing too heated but each kiss promising something more. Something big, despite all the ways their noses bump awkwardly together or Newt seems a bit too eager to incorporate teeth. The end of the kissing comes naturally and they both stare at each other for a few moments, breathless and looking a bit out of sorts. They laugh together, out of joy, out of how ridiculous they each look, out of a profound sense of relief that they've finally come to the natural conclusion of so many years of tension. The time they could have been together but weren't could weigh on them, but tonight they are going to enjoy where they've found themselves. Hermann takes Newt's face in his hands and kisses his forehead before settling back on the couch.

Rather than resuming his old position, Newt lays down, emboldened to put his head into Hermann's lap. Hermann, familiar with the concept of living with a needy pet despite never having done it himself, cards a hand through his hair.

"You're not calling me baby," Hermann says at length. "Honey I will allow in some contexts."

"What about a more casual "babe" instead? Is that a compromise?"

"Do I look like a “babe” to you, Newton?"

"...I think that's a trick question. Because yes, you look like a complete and utter babe to me. Especially when you've got that sour face on and I know I'm the one who put it on your face."

They argue like this for several minutes, Hermann attempting to be logical and make Newt see his point and Newt turning it into a good opportunity to flirt. It’s becoming increasingly clear that baby is going to be a regular part of their conversations. Eventually, the banter stops as they both nod off (the impact of their now empty glasses of wine.) Hermann, caught by the sensation of his head falling forward, jolts awake in time to keep them both from sleeping on the couch. He scratches Newt's scalp just enough to cause him to stir. Newt, very tired and now rather grumpy, responds by mumbling something that he wouldn't understand in any language, even the attempts at their native German.

"I don't understand a Berlin accent, Liebling, even when you are trying to make sense."

Newt sits up then and snorts indignantly. That's an old debate from when they were much younger men. "The Berlin accent is one of the most distinctive and important of all accents. Also, you studied in Berlin, so don’t even lie. You just like to be contrary when it comes to me."

"The promise of a debate is always enough to wake you up, hmm?" He reaches for his cane, which is resting against the arm of the couch. "Your German is atrocious and I'm off to bed for the night. Weren’t you a child the last time you were expected to speak it anyway?"

"Sleep well." Newt sits up fully and suppresses a yawn. His hair is an absolute mess and Hermann loves how well it suits him. Not only does he love the messy parts of Newt best of all, but he knows these are the parts that are so very human which prompts a tender feeling in his chest.

"Are you not also coming to bed?" Hermann rises smoothly.

"As soon as you leave, yeah." Newt pats the couch cushion next to him to make a point.

"No, there's no need for that anymore. I hated that in the first place."

"Oh. Oh! Alright, yeah. I'll uh. I'll follow after you've gotten ready."

Hermann smiles back at him and makes his way through his nightly routine. Like most of his routine, it's efficient and he's in bed within five minutes. He deliberately places himself to the left side of the bed. He's honestly not sure how this negotiation works when sharing beds, but he remembers the one time they did share a bed, it was this way. (Though that bed was much smaller and they slept more or less on top of each other.) He chooses to stay sitting up, at least for a few moments while he waits, and reads to himself, his glasses perched low on his nose. The words seem to blur together as he nods off and this time he doesn't catch himself.

"I'm sort of surprised you don't choose to sleep in embroidered silk pajamas," Newt says from the doorway. "I know I've seen you in your night clothes many, many times before, but I didn't know if you dressed differently when you were trying to impress."

Hermann's usual sleep wardrobe is a t-shirt (the only time he wears something so casual) and some pajama bottoms. This provides the optimal comfort. Newt, though, takes the comfort to another level, choosing a shirt that is several times too large and a pair of boxers which are near completely covered by said shirt.

"Who would I be attempting to impress, Newton? You've clearly already been impressed."

Newt slips into the bed beside him. "And they say romance isn't dead."

"I believe it'll make it all the more meaningful when I do decide to _impress_ you."

"You're all talk," Newt mumbles, pulling up the covers. "Hope you're able to deal with the snoring."

"I will cope." He closes his book and places it aside before he switches off the light. "Just don't kick me and we'll be fine."

They lay in the dark for a few moments, like a virginal couple on their wedding night, unsure of what to do but knowing there's got to be something more. Newt eventually turns onto his side.

"Wanna spoon?"

 

The next few days are the closest to bliss that Hermann has felt in his entire life. There's something very exciting about the start of something, the unfolding of a new chapter in a man's life. Newt is eagerly amorous and Hermann enjoys setting a respectful distance between them as much as he can, given the aforementioned amorous intentions and his equally eager desire to return them. The distance narrows with each day, of course, and with each kiss or shared bed or small and intimate moment. Truthfully, he's enjoying this sort of happy limbo they've gotten themselves into. It's been a rainy few days and they've mostly been inside, with a short walk to the village to have lunch and a walk down to the beach when Newt became too restless. There's another restless current running underneath everything, though, and it's like waiting for the storm to burst forth upon them.

Hermann doesn't live his life in metaphors, though, so he's going to continue with everything precisely as it is for the time being. He wants this relationship to be part of Newt's healing process, or in pace with it, but he doesn't want to use it to force catharsis when it's not time for catharsis. He doesn't want to force emotional intimacy any more than he does physical intimacy, though he supposes he's the only one putting up barriers in the physical capacity. Yet again, they prove to be perfect foils for each other. Though Hermann is, admittedly, surprised that he is able to be the more emotionally open of the two of them, at least when it comes to the things that haunt them at night.

Newt seems to, despite the restlessness, find some peace in his situation. Hermann has to wonder how much of this was influenced by discontent in the unactualized feelings for Hermann and how much is likely to emerge once this initial period of happiness has passed, the restlessness that is only cured by having a shiny new thing to pursue for some time. As happy as he is for himself, he finds he's even more grateful that this may give them some peace for a time. Hopefully enough time to figure out next steps and a longer term solution.

He's settled in the kitchen to work through a few potential options when he hears Newt call his name from the living room. Instead of replying right away, he gives a long suffering sigh and resumes his work. Newt had called him in about two hours prior for no other reason than to flirt with him, which he appreciates, but he also knows this can wait.

"Hermann, dude. I need some help here."

"In a moment, Newton. I'm in the middle of something." There's no use to encourage him to be the boy who cried wolf.

"Baby, c'mon."

This game will annoy him far too soon, so he gives in. When he enters the living room, Newt is on the couch, as expected, completely upside down. The twin thoughts of "this man is a moron" and "I love this man beyond all human reason" both flash through Hermann's brain and thankfully produce a happy medium of results.

"Let me guess, you've become stuck like this and would like my assistance in righting yourself?"

"I figured you'd like anything that implies I'm not right, right?"

He rolls his eyes and carefully aids Newt in turning himself back upright. Almost immediately, a small trickle of blood appears from his nostril. Hermann stands and fetches a tissue from the bathroom, folding it neatly and pressing it to Newt's face. He does not in the least like the way seeing a nosebleed makes him feel and he wants to squash any specific memories, good or bad, of this condition. Thankfully, this is only the first he’s seen since their arrival in France.

"Thanks," Newt says, looking a bit sheepish.

"Why were you upside down?"

"Why not?"

There's a likelihood he's never going to get a more solid answer than this. He can theorize all he likes, but sometimes he just has to accept that he's never going to understand every last bit of Newt, even if he's been in his head. Honestly, he loves him all the more for it, that there will be parts of him that will always be wholly himself and never belong to anyone or anything else. A younger man in love might find this distressing, he certainly would have twenty years ago, but now it’s an immense comfort to him.

"Because you're an adult who, whether you like it or not, cannot move your body as well as you once were able to. Because if you wanted me to pay attention to you, you could have asked and waited for a few moments longer."

After pulling the tissue away, he ascertains that the bleeding has stopped and puts it gently aside. Newt looks no worse for it, and he finds a strange relief in that. It's a simple incident to brush aside and resume life as normal. He curls a hand around the base of Newt's head and leans in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Newt grips his wrist gently.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Newton?"

"For keeping you away from the life you had. For how much you have to take care of me. For the fact that you've had to cut off from anyone you know."

"We've been over this before and I mean what I say. I'd rather have you than anything else in this world, and that is not sentiment speaking. You know I find the idea of people acting rashly for sentimental reasons foolhardy."

"I think you're as capable of being a fool as anyone else."

He pulls away, though Newt's hand more or less follows his down to his lap, where he holds on tightly.

"Then I'm a fool, but a very cautious fool who knew this was the best possible option. The only thing I could wish for is that you'd speak more openly to me about what's happened to you. Over the past decade and the past months before we ran."

"That takes time, man. I'll tell you when it's time. You've gotta trust that I will."

It becomes apparent to him how he's being unfair to both Newt and himself. He's keeping him teetering just at the edge in the hope that he will share information before they move the relationship any further physically. He can trust Newt to share what he’s feeling and what he needs, and the fear that a touch will set him off is not a reason to not touch someone when it comes down to it. Intentionally or not, he's withholding desires that are only natural and very, very human. And isn't that precisely the type of thing they've come all this way to do - to feel completely and utterly human?

"Of course I trust you."

Newt kisses him then, very reverently at first. Hermann is no fool, though, and is already becoming familiar with this technique. The hand that was holding his tightly lets go, settling itself on his thigh for a few moments. As he melts into the kiss, very willingly, he notices that Newt's hand slips just a bit farther up with every few moments. Not opposed to this development, Hermann allows him to venture further, to see where the new threshold lies. Only when he's dangerously close to his groin does he put his own hand down to stop him.

"Sorry, I'm just-" Newt attempts an apology before he's cut off.

"I know just what you're doing and while the action is not unwelcome, you're going to have to ask me with words."

"Can I, er, touch you there?"

"Only if you come to the bedroom with me."

Newt gives an oddly confused look for just a moment, but then realization dawns on him.

“You're propositioning me! Yes, yes. Of course."'

"Propositioning you? Honestly, don't make me sound so cheap." He stands slowly and carefully, not wanting to encourage Newt to do otherwise and cause another nosebleed so soon. Newt nearly jumps up anyway and makes a beeline for the bedroom. His shirt is already half off before he's even made a few steps.

Hermann opens his mouth to chastise him for leaving clothing everywhere, but thinks the better of it and follows him into the bedroom. The fact is, he understands the eagerness even if it's never been his style or approach to these things. He likes to keep the pace, let things progress as slowly as they need to. This changes the moment he's closed the bedroom door behind him (though there's no risk of anyone coming in) and is faced with the vision of Newt clad only in a pair of boxers with a novelty lizard print, awkwardly trying to remove his left sock. Desire is inspired by the strangest visions. When Newt turns to him with a lopsided grin, all hope of restraint is out the window.

"You've got to at least take off your cardigan," Newt says, noticing the look. "I really, really am starting to hate that thing. I'm gonna take it back to the awful thrift store where you got it if it's on your body for much longer."

Without further ado, Hermann shrugs out of the cardigan. It is rather hideous, but in their haste as fugitives, they haven't had many options for clothing. He gives no more leeway, though, as he moves forward and kisses Newt hard, cupping his face in his hand as he does. It feels like the single most justified kiss of his life, like he's never needed to be close to someone any more than in this moment. He not only doesn't care that this is not a logically sound argument, but wants to believe fully the contrary. Newt's hands are on him after a few moments, likely after he's had time to collect himself; nonetheless, they're frantic and overeager. It's as if he's trying to simultaneously pull the shirt out of his trousers and unbutton it from the bottom up, which just results in desperately tugging at the fabric. Instead of keeping this barrier, Hermann takes the lead to step away and tug it over his head, with blatant disregard for his carefully done up buttons, and unbutton his trousers, letting them slide to the floor.

Admittedly, that action proves to be anything but sexy when he nearly trips on his way to the bed over the trousers around his ankles. Newt laughs at him and then gently guides him to the bed, taking the time to prop his cane safely against the nightstand. All awkwardness is more than forgotten when he's sat in bed with a lap full of Newt, continuing the very lovely and rather filthy kiss they had started. Like many aspects of their lives, there's a competitive edge to the kiss - one of them will bite in just the right way to produce a delightful sound and the other will move a hand to touch a particularly sensitive body part. Some things are conjecture from previous attempts at kissing, while others seem to be an unearned sense memory that Hermann absolutely intends to explore once he's not lost in a haze of lusty lightheadedness.

When Newt pulls away, his first instinct is to follow, to maintain that connection, but he's gently pushed back against the headboard.

"To use a crass word that'll probably make you give a very sour face, I want to give you a blowjob," Newt explains.

Sure enough, Hermann feels his face shift ever so slightly. The reaction is worth it to hear Newt laugh, and then kiss him very softly before aiding in the removal of his briefs, nudging him very gently to lift his hips. In the heat and energy of their interactions, Newt is always mindful of Hermann’s leg, but he never makes him feel like he’s somehow damaged. It’s just a fact of their existence. They kiss again, this time it becomes much harder when he shifts and bites Hermann’s chin playfully on the beginning of a very slow descent down his body.

The kisses are in turns tender and teasing as he makes his way down, finding delicate spots to explore now and later.

“Incredible,” Hermann gasps. “Your mouth is incredible.” At this point in time, the mouth in question has found the way to his nipple as a hand trails down his stomach. Newt is too preoccupied to even make comments about how easily he’s being complimented, especially about his mouth. Instead, he nips lightly.

The next word that escapes Hermann’s lips is “beautiful” and Newt stops for a moment, just a tender moment before his mouth follows his hands down his stomach.

“You are-” Hermann reaches for him, running a hand through his hair, “the most beautiful, brilliant man I have ev-ever had the pleasure- fuck, Newton.”

By the time that Newt's mouth is anywhere near his groin, he's become needy and is more or less rambling a string of compliments, mostly about Newt's appearance, though some intellectual comments make their way into the conversation. Newt stops to chuckle near his lower stomach, when Hermann becomes suddenly insistent that he’s going to die from pleasure if Newton doesn’t do something about it very soon. When he takes his cock into his mouth, he's gone nearly non-verbal.

He screws his eyes shut, revelling in the feeling. He's got his hand on the back of Newt's head and he's only brought out of the sensation once when he definitely feels a bit more teeth than there should be (they are both so out of practice, or maybe never in practice).The rhythm he’s set up is irregular and persistent and Newt gently rubs his hip almost at the exact moment he feels the pleasure will be too much to bear, grounding him in his body. Hermann’s moment of release is met with a warning tug to Newt’s hair and a shudder. There’s no dignity in it, but he can hardly imagine feeling shame for such an intimate action.

Newt grins awkwardly up at him once he's pulled away, and then without any shame plucks a tissue from the nightstand and attempts to subtly spit into it.

"You are brilliant, sexy, and repulsive, Newton," Hermann comments, a bit too happy to be judgmental or insist he places the tissue into the garbage.

"A man has his preferences, Herms and I'm not a fan." He straddles Hermann once again. "If it bothers you-"

"No, that's not it." He surges forward so he's closer and more in control. "It's just odd to reconcile that with the man who I've seen up to his elbows, literally, in kaiju viscera."

"Despite what many people believe, I wasn't _literally_ fucking the kaiju, though."

Hermann laughs or rather giggles at the thought, and kisses him tenderly. He demonstrates his less than tender intentions, though, when his hand slips into Newt's boxers, pulling out his cock. When a few tentative strokes earn a high pitched but very pleased sound against his mouth, he continues. While the rhythm is irregular, it seems to be doing the trick. He deepens the kiss, but feels an odd satisfaction when it becomes pointedly open-mouthed, when the kiss devolves into little more than sharing breath and a refusal to break too far away from one another. His own breath halts for a moment when he hears a strangled, almost awkward sound and he feels Newt's release spill over his hand between them. They stay still for a few moments before Newt very carefully moves away, shuffling out of his boxers. Hermann reaches across and plucks a tissue for himself, wiping off his hand before placing it next to the other tissue.

"Shit-" Newt says, in his own form of processing. "Shit, that was-"

When Hermann looks over at him, he notices that he's crying. Hermann stiffens.

"Did I- Is something wrong?" he asks.

"No, fuck Herms. No." Newt shakes his head before resting his forehead against Hermann's shoulder. "I'm just really fucking happy."

“Ah,” Hermann responds, suddenly feeling like maybe it’s time for him to cry as well. He won’t. “I am as well. Happy. Fucking happy.”

Newt huffs out a laugh against his arm. “Is fucking happy different from regular happy?”

“I suppose it is.”

Newt only shifts closer, laying his head on Hermann’s chest. Hermann cards a hand through his hair. It’s a mess and he can only imagine what his hair looks like after the ordeal. Like most things about him, he’s sure that he looks better with a sense of order to his appearance, but he’ll let it go this one time.

“I love you,” Newt says, and though Hermann knows the sentiment cannot possibly be a secret, it’s the first time it’s said aloud.

“I love you too,” he answers. “It feels so good to say that after so very damn long.”

“I love your sex hair a little bit more than I love you, though.”

In that moment, Hermann is acutely aware that his hair must be a complete mess and he’s suddenly more than okay with that. Everything else in that moment is beyond perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time since they've come to the cottage, Hermann sleeps without any worries. He's not calculating how two men can live on twenty years of a retirement plan or where they will head next once the PPDC, or whoever's claiming to be the PPDC these days, starts to circle in on them. Or worse: he's not thinking about what it will mean if the PPDC finds them. Instead, he awakens to the thought of whether or not he can spend the rest of the day in bed or if he should make them dinner soon.

Newt's already awake after their brief nap. He's sitting cross legged in the bed with a notebook, scribbling something, staring intently down at whatever he's writing. Hermann's determined to say something interesting or sexy. It's been long enough he's certain they can have a repeat performance of earlier now.

"I still have socks on," is what he says instead.

"Yes, you do."

He awkwardly shuffles underneath the covers to peel off the offensive socks before sliding back up the bed to sit.

"I really enjoyed our earlier...adventure,” Hermann explains, immediately aware that this is not any more interesting or sexy than commenting on his socks.

"If you refer to sex in chaste euphemisms consistently I'm going to find progressively nastier things to refer to the act as."

"I'm just not used to this,” he says, dismissive.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Newt puts his notebook aside. "My little visitors were not a fan of me bumping uglies with anyone, so they made damn sure I didn't. Plus, I wasn't particularly interested because I really wanted to go to pound town with one person in particular."

"I'm not going to engage if you keep speaking like that, Newton."

"So now that we're banging-"

"Newton, if you would ever like to do that again, I beg of you to stop."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Newt's voice drops lower and he dons his distinctive mocking Hermann tone. He leans over, pivoting himself for a kiss, which Hermann grants him. "Now that we're making sweet and tender love."

"I do not refer to it as making love."

"Sweet and tender love, babe. Get it right." He crawls closer and moves his attention to Hermann's neck, grazing his mouth against the tender skin. Newt’s stubble tickles, but he’s able to refrain from laughing.

"I don't refer it to as that, either."

"Anyway, I was only interested in one specific person, who had happened to seduce me one night..."

"You came to my door! Not the other way around."

"Mhm." He's ventured as far south as Hermann's collarbone now. "And now I've gotta think about how there's a universe where I had this for a whole damn decade."

"We're not dwelling on that right now," he answers. "Besides, and I mean this with all my admiration I hold for you, I'm not sure there's any universe where you have the impulse control not to try to continue to drift with kaijus."

The statement is probably a bit more offensive than strictly necessary in this situation, but Newt laughs anyway. "You're absolutely right about that."

"And we know if we had continued down that path, I wouldn't be here today."

This delivers the sting, the momentary look of sorrow. Hermann means exactly as he says. Even on the off chance they'd formed a relationship all that time ago, he'd have been long dead by now. The distance was what kept him alive, even if it was what broke his heart.

"Well, I'm glad you are here today because this life would be super boring without you,” Newt admits. For a simple statement, it seems like a shining compliment.

"Plus, there's no way you'd be able to money manage enough to live like this."

"My Swiss bank accounts. That I...have had since I started at Shao industries and realized that could...those."

"Your what now?"

After a brief fight that ends in Hermann feeling marginally more relieved about finances than he has in a long time, the kissing resumes and completely supersedes the dinner hour. The money is not a limitless supply, but equivalent to his own sum, which buys them more time. Money is time, not the other way around. That night they eat bread and cheese and end up immediately back in bed.

 

Public spaces prove a challenge with their new development. Many of the people around them have already got the idea in their heads that they are, in fact, a couple and have been for some time. Now that this is correct, they have to be very subtle about any change in mannerisms, just on the very off chance someone has paid them any real attention. Hermann's consistently not interested in public displays of affection and more guarded in how he presents himself so this is rarely an issue for him. (Though with the very right motivation, he's more than eager for contact.) Newt, though, is subconsciously always reaching for some part of him or draping himself on or over him. It’s a big change from way he used to flinch at the slightest sudden touch.

They're at a shop about five days into their physical relationship, buying some new clothes that they can finally afford now that Hermann knows he doesn't have to make his retirement fund last twice as long for two people. Newt's idea of shopping is to consistently hold shirts up to Hermann's body and either comment on how ugly the shirt is (he chooses the shirts because they are ugly) or use it as an excuse to touch him.

"You do realize I am fully capable of procuring clothing for myself, Newton."

"Yeah, but I kinda like the idea of dressing you." Newt pauses for dramatic effect. "Before undressing you."

"I honestly need you to stop this instant if you want to ever have the chance to undress me again."

"You say this now..."

He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the buzz of his phone. He pulls out his wallet and hands it to Newt. "Buy what you must, I have to take this call."

Fully aware of the disaster that is going to await him, he weaves his way through the clothes to step outside. Admittedly, any calls he takes should be made in private, but he knows this may be urgent.

"Hello?" he answers tentatively.

"Gottlieb. I have some updates for you."

Once he's confident the voice is who he thinks it is, he relaxes minimally. "I'm in a public space, so I can't speak for long."

"That's fine. I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know that they've caught up and will be expanding the search to Europe. Obviously can't mislead them too much longer but they're being real coy about it, I think they're getting embarrassed that they've let an asset go, don't want to make it too public or people will panic."

"I'll start planning for them to begin looking elsewhere. Thank you for this update."

"Just be careful. There's no guarantee I'll be able to keep calling you. Can't put my neck on the line for someone who tried to end the world like this, you know?"

"You've done more than enough for him. For us."

"Yeah, yeah. If we ever get this mess with the PPDC sorted out, you owe me a huge favor. Massive."

Hermann smiles to himself. It's hearing that slight optimism that gets him through- the hope that maybe one day he can have some semblance of his old life back- that helps his indefinite and terrifying future currently before him seem just a bit less horrifying. Of course, each day it gets easier to cope for a completely different reason.

"If I ever have the chance to see you again, I will pay you back in excess."

Truth be told, he'd honestly be content to live this life for some time longer. The concern is that some very awful, not good thing will occur and he can't be involved in trying to stop it. A man gets used to being in the thick of impending disasters and he can’t imagine being passive as an apocalypse looms or a bunch of teenagers find their way into the Anteverse.

"Yeah, well. I've gotta go. The cadets have apparently got into some trouble tonight."

He doesn't bother with goodbyes, only hangs up the phone and hastily shoves it into his pocket. This is not the first of these conversations and he's learned to both dread and appreciate them. It reminds him that there's still good in the world and that they have friends still in their old home who want the same things they do.

Newt steps outside moments later, holding two canvas bags stuffed to the brim with clothes. "I bought you the shirt with the little rocket ships on it, because I think you secretly love it."

"You are..." He searches for the word, and all of his knowledge seems to fail him for a moment. "Incredible."

Despite his own thoughts on public displays of affection, he can't resist. He reaches for Newt's hand and guides him closer, pulling him in for the gentlest of kisses. Newt answers it with his usual eager affection, more or less grabbing at his face as he does. The bags have been unceremoniously dropped to the ground and Hermann is surprisingly okay with that.

"Now," Newt says, once he's content with the kissing. "What does the Pentecost boy have to say?"

 

This is how it happened. Hermann was doing his due diligence- his job that he had been doing for most of his adult life. The PPDC was in shambles, but he wanted to be one of the people to pull it all together. Of all the things he'd ever had in his life, he loved only one thing more than he loved his job. That thing, very much so a person and not a thing, was kept captive by the PPDC, or whatever claimed to be the be the PPDC, which led to a conflict of interest.

It was understandable enough if they had kept him because he was a threat, because they felt he would not cooperate, but it became clear this was not the case. Newt loved the job as much as Hermann did, and even after a decade away, he didn't doubt this remained true. Still he was kept locked away, alone in a cell like a condemned man who had done nothing wrong beyond be curious or eager to change the world. The man Hermann would visit became more broken and dejected with each and every visit to the cell.

"What are we going to do about this?" he asked, unprompted, one night as he passes Jake Pentecost in a hall.

Jake looked at him, startled but not surprised. "We?"

"Yes, we." He's aware he must look manic and overly tired, but he's been dwelling on Newt's situation for weeks. "Whatever they have has done to him is wearing him down, but no one will give me answers. Something needs to be done."

"Look, I want to help, I do, but I'm trying to make sure no more giant bastards come out of the ocean and try to kill us."

"Yes, I'm aware. That's what I've been doing in my lab for weeks, years. Hell. Since you were just a young fool."

"Doctor Gottlieb, please. Maybe we should have this discussion in private."

Jake led him to his own room, watching very carefully that no one is about when he shuts them in. Hermann is determined to do his best not to shout but he can't make any guarantees about this.

Jake offered Hermann a seat in a simple hand gesture. He doesn't take it.  "I'm sure by now you've realized the people in charge of the PPDC, hell, all these new bastards that keep showing up - they've got the best interest of their governments at heart, not this actual organization. There wasn't enough of the organization left to keep it a strong force, so the world either had to have faith in the future and the people who have proven reliable or the government had to step in."

"And of course the government stepped in."

"Yeah. But they're trying to be sneaky about it. Like they care about us. We've all been talking about it and we all hate it. Both these people and what they've been doing to your friend."

"Well, I'm glad to know some people are finally starting to see sense-” he stopped, realization dawning, “what they've been doing to him? Are they doing anything beyond keeping him locked up?"

"They're being very secretive to anyone who isn't in their back pocket but the predominant theory is they cured him via means of torture."

"Torture?" he shouts, unable to fathom restraining that reaction. "How is that at all an appropriate way to treat a man who has been used like a puppet for a decade? Who sanctioned this?"

"It's unclear. We're...we're trying to find answers. This doesn't sit right with me. And others.."

"This isn't about sitting right. This is about an innocent man -" Hermann suddenly feels rather like crying, but he restrains himself from that action at least. He lowers his voice. "You are going to get him out of there. You are going to help me get him out of there, or there will be consequences."

"I can't go against orders like that."

"You don't understand, I will get Newt out and I will do it with or without your help, but if you and your so called friends have any shred of decency in you-"

"That's a bit harsh."

"Please," he says, his voice suddenly losing its edge. "I can't fathom what he's been through and I can't fathom what he will become if no one helps him."

"We'll do what we can, but I can't put my neck on the line for him."

"I understand."

A week later, the power completely cuts off at the Shatterdome for two hours. One of the most sophisticated security systems in the world is rendered useless and the panic that sets in creates chaos. Two hours doesn't buy anyone a lot of time, but it buys them just enough to get out of there and on the way to anywhere else.

 

The choice of southern France is a random one, Hermann knows he can't put much thought into his choices if he wants to remain hidden. He also knows they're both middle aged men, one with a disability and the other with severe emotional trauma, so they can't just find a hole and hope for the best. It's an idyllic location and it's by the sea, which is all that matters when he makes the choice.

Since they'd arrived, two days after their escape, he's tracked Newt's progress meticulously- physically and mentally. It's easier to monitor the physical. He had become sallow and thinner during his time in captivity and for the first two weeks, Hermann worried this was what he'd look like and act like forever. Eventually, though, his spirit and appetite returned and it was a lot like having his old friend back. In many ways it was having his old friend back, except for the longer stretch of unanswered questions hanging between them.

Now, he's slowly begun to peel back a lifetime of answers. The evening after their shopping trip, they sneak out to the beach at night. There's no one to stop them from going out, or from being at the beach, but there's something forbidden about the adventure nonetheless. They bring a large blanket with them to lay on and a thermos full of tea. Hermann doesn't even mind that he can feel the beach pebbles through the blanket or that the air is surprisingly cold. What matters is that they're alone together and the stars hang brightly above the sea and in that moment he feels like they've conquered everything they've set out to.

"So..." Newt begins, after a surprisingly long moment of silence, "any chance we can bone on the beach?"

"You're just saying that because you want me to react to your word choice." There is definitely no chance they're doing anything more than enjoying each other's company. "Besides, it's a bit too cold for that."

"What I'm hearing is that if I warm you up, you'd definitely be down."

"When we're home and in bed, I could be convinced."

"I'm onto you, you know. You're doing this to make me sleep at reasonable hours."

Newt scoots closer and rests his head on Hermann's shoulder. He's likely tired already, though he'll never admit it.

"I can assure you my motivations are far more selfish than you're presenting them."

"Well, yeah, getting me to bed means you get to sleep more easily."

"That's not exactly what I mean."

He drops a kiss on the top of Newt's head. His hair is getting long and he'll need a reminder to cut it soon. Unless he likes the length, but a reminder is good nonetheless. Silence slips over them again as they're both lulled by the sound of the ocean. It shouldn't be the comfort it is, but it continues to be a constant reminder of something neither of them want to forget. It's an acute, sharp pain buried deep inside as well, but a necessary pain for the lives these men have chosen.

"We're going to have to move soon, won't we?" Newt asks. His voice sounds like he's half asleep.

"I think we will, yes. But not too soon. We can't be hasty or draw attention to ourselves."

"Eventually they'll catch up to us. And I want you to know that I'm okay with that. With the bit of freedom you've given me I'm...beyond happy."

"And you will continue to be so for a very long time if I have any say in the matter."

There's enough hope that he can almost mean this when he says it. Almost. He reaches for Newt's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Well, either way, next place we go, I think we should get rings."

“Rings?”

“Mhm,” Newt hums, tired. “You know, like on the ring fingers? Like in the husband way?”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“Just promise me.”

“I promise we will talk about this later.”

 

Hermann’s slipped out of bed in the very early hours of the morning to do some research. Their next moves need to be deliberate and calculated, even if the choice of location will likely be random. They'll have to find a different sort of place, but they can't try something too different from their current life. It might be best to head to someplace closer to home, to throw whoever it is looking for them off the trail. Or maybe they can just hide away in Patagonia where it seems highly unlikely anyone will even care to find them. Patagonia would never work.

Hermann's just buried his face in his hands when he hears the shout from the bedroom. At first he thinks Newt must be calling for him, but the sound is more desperate. He's having one of his bad dreams again. While Hermann's had, or used to have, his dreams for a very long time, he's still not sure how he can be of comfort to his lover. Friend. Partner. This cry, though, sounds more frantic than before- more real and persistent.

He pushes away his computer and stands, returning to the bedroom. As seamlessly as he can manage, he slips back into bed and under the covers. Newt will probably kick him, this is something he does sometimes anyway, but it seems a small cost for the hope of a calming presence. His hand finds its way to Newt's shoulder, squeezing gently and reassuringly. The body next to him seems to relax, he can feel the pressure roll off of him. Newt's eyes snap open, and they're clouded by tears.

"Oh shit," Newt mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Did I wake you?"

"I've been awake. Just got back into bed, in fact."

"Leaving bed is a cardinal sin."

It's apparent that Newt's probably more asleep than awake at this point in time. Not that speaking nonsense is that strange for him, but Hermann's acutely aware of how easily Newt transitions from partially awake to talking in his sleep.

"It was only for a short time. I didn't think you'd end up noticing in the least."

"Noticed your cold feet were all gone suddenly."

"You're the one who complained when I suggested that I wear socks to bed if it bothers you."

"Don't need 'em. Wanna warm you all up."

"Says the man who steals the blankets." He smiles in the dark, then catches himself.

"Jus' stay here. The dreams are nicer when you've got your...cold stuff over here."

"I'm here. I will be here until it's time to wake up."

He stays awake until he hears the even breathing of a deep sleep beside him on the bed.

The next thing that wakes him is not shouting but a real, blood curdling scream beside him. He shoots up faster than he should and immediately shakes the man beside him. This is a real, palpable, and heart crushing terror that he feels and he needs to shake it as soon as possible.

"Newton. Newton." He shakes him gently, then with a bit more urgency. "Newton. Newt."

The relief he should feel upon Newt opening his eyes and jolting awake immediately seeps away when the look he's met with is one of pure terror. He's had his own share of bad dreams over the years, but nothing has left him looking or feeling as utterly shattered as Newt looks in those moments. He wants words, but this is not the time for speaking. Instead, with all the tenderness he can muster, and it is an immense deal within this bed, he sits up and takes him in his arms and pulls him as close as two bodies can be. Only after Newt has buried his face against his shoulder, heaving out a few hefty sobs, does he feel any chance of relief.

He rubs the small of Newt's back, keeping this touch to one location, but intending it to soothe. It takes a few moments for the calmness to seep in, but eventually the sound of sobbing stops and everything is alarmingly still. These are the moments when things can break, and he must take care that it's the right things that break if anything does.

"Feeling better?" he ventures in his softest tone. Despite the overwhelming curiosity, the last thing he wants to do is pry.

The response he gets is a kiss to his neck. This is not the type of answer that should please him, but it does without a doubt. The phrase "a fool for love" runs through his head, because this is not a solid answer in the least, but he wants to relish in it nonetheless.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Newt croaks out. "But I guess I should."

He hesitates to pull away but he does. There's a rather sloppily wet stain on his shirt but he wears it like a badge of honor. The best solution he can think of is to stretch out his legs and pat his lap gently. It only takes a few moments for Newt to take his cue and rest with his head in Hermann's lap. Sometimes it's easier to talk if not looking someone directly in the eye. Sometimes.

"You were having what I believe must have been a very terrible dream."

"Yes."

"About?"

"Them. In my head."

"Is this what you normally dream about?"

Newt shakes his head. "No. Surprisingly I haven't had any dreams about that specifically, it's like...I wasn't capable of having dreams about that because I was buried so deeply the whole time. It was hard to recall what that experience felt like beyond...impressions, fleeting moments of feelings.”

"So you've been dreaming about-"

"What happened to me when I was held against my will, usually. But this one was different. I'm not - God, I don't want to talk about how the one thing I believed in did this to me."

"It's not really them, you know. There's so little of the PPDC remaining that we're more or less run by whatever greedy government wants to get their hands in anyone else's business. The real PPDC, the life and spirit of it, are who helped us come here."

"I know. Objectively I know, but fuck - still feels awful. Knowing I was unwillingly part of the reason why everyone's..."

"There is no place for guilt in this bedroom." He runs a hand along the back of Newt's head. "You are a good man and have always been a good man, even if your methods have been a bit mad. Now, tell me about the dream."

"The Precursors. They were sort of...in my head again. But not really. I was negotiating with them, as though I had a choice in the matter, even if I never did. And they'd tried to negotiate that you could live if I'd just cooperate and then I...I told them no. Not because I wanted you to die, but because I knew it meant you'd die anyway so when I said that, they just went right ahead and..."

"Killed me."

"Made me kill you. There's a fundamental difference there."

"I'm dead regardless, Newton."

"You're the most comforting partner a guy could ask for, Herms."

"I apologize. I can understand why that dream could be alarming for you."

"It felt real." Newt sits up. "I could feel you slipping away from me and I could feel them slipping in- into the places you belong. I think all those years ago, when we drifted, it was sharing bits of me with you that kept them from taking over so strongly so soon. And maybe it was the bits of me out in you that gave me a chance to come back."

“That, I suppose, makes some sort of logical sense,” Hermann answers, reaching a hand up under his chin. “But they're not going to get in between this.”

“It makes so much sense, doesn't it? Like they looked at me and thought 'hey this guy is free game and that's pretty great and then bam, there's this stuffy guy moving in and he, unfortunately wants to save the earth, not destroy it.”

“But I didn't stay in your head. Or you didn't have the incentive to keep having me in your head, unlike...” Hermann doesn’t want to be the one to say it, he doesn’t want to admit that he could have had less value to Newt than the potential of a kaiju brain. It’s a very real thing to wrestle with, nonetheless.

“Hey, I was all about being in your head, it was a top priority. I just was more eager to be in your bed and maybe take you to dinner first.”

“I'm glad to know that your intentions towards the kaiju brain were not romantic in nature.”

“Despite the jokes, I've never had the urge to sleep with a kaiju, I'll have you know. Only statisticians.”

“You should try to get some more sleep, Newton. It'll be light soon, but we've nothing to do today.”

“Except for you to plan where you're going to secret me off to next.”

He's not sure whether to smile or frown at this response. “Well, the tentative planning is part of it, yes. But we'll be here until it's too much of a threat to be here.”

“Why don't they just leave us alone?” Newt lays back down, this time on his back so he can stare at the ceiling. “Taking us away from our work is honestly punishment enough, don't you think?”

“I did not intend this to be a punishment.”

Hermann lays beside him, slinging an arm over his midsection. There's a silence between them that seems far too heavy. Of course Newt knows that this wasn't meant as a punishment, but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like one. Hermann knows this because he feels it too. He knows there's always a looming apocalypse and it's killing him to not be able to help prevent it. It kills him to know that the fate of the world is now in the hands of some grubby government officials who care about their best interests and nothing about the people they're trying to keep safe from what lies on the other side of the breach.

“It can't be a punishment anyway,” Newt answers finally, “because you are here and that's pretty much the exact opposite of a punishment. That's a big ole sexy reward.”

“Go to sleep, Newton.”

“I do know that you called me Newt earlier. I bet you've been calling me Newt to everyone but me. You saucy boy.”

“I'll never tell.”

“Oh, you’ll tell alright,” Newt mutters, pressing his face more or less into the pillow. “Before long it’ll be Newt this and Newt that.”

“I believe I told you to sleep Newt _on_.”

Newt yawns and shuffles closer, pressing his face to Hermann’s shoulder. Hermann is glad of this closeness, and how easily he can monitor the sound of Newt breathing. It sounds as though he’s drifted off, but then he speaks.

“They only hurt me physically a few times, when I protested,” Newt says, it’s abrupt and it’s painful to hear, but it’s clarity. “You wanted to know that, and that’s the truth. The other times it was all...in my head. They just wanted to make it so uncomfortable in there that the precursors would leave. And it worked, but then it was just me there hurting. I just thought you should know.”

The darkness is a blessed shelter, as Hermann is sure the angry expression on his face would be terrifying to see, and possibly misinterpreted.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I’m sorry you’ve ever had to go through that.”

“It’s alright now, I’m here. I’m gonna work on being better with you.”

Hermann smiles in the dark and smooths away some of the hair on Newt’s forehead, placing a kiss there.


	5. Chapter 5

The answers to his questions come slowly. Sometimes it feels like he's extracting something painful from Newt moment by moment. It comes in unguarded statements, a reference to drinking alone many nights, an off kilter joke about mental torture. He's starting to wonder if the secret is to piece together the past decade or the past few months- he’s not sure which trauma is the solution to unlocking Newt. In the early days, when he still believed they could cure Newt and have him go back to his old life, he'd imagined dealing with one trauma, now this is two distinctive but not unrelated traumas about a man who has had his freedom stripped away.

Either because he's too wary of making his own choices or as a show of trust, Newt still seems to defer to Hermann for most major choices. It's strange to see such an independent man asking him each day, over a book or a newspaper article, what their plan will be for the day. If it was twenty years in the future, this would be Hermann's paradise. But it's not and they both know that while they are not the ambitious twenty somethings who first met all those years ago, neither of them are ready to relinquish the last years of their youth. The illusion of paradise has begun to slip away.

Today they've given themselves something of a treat, or something that makes them feel even more like old men. They're on a bus to the lavender fields for a day of walking and a change of scenery. It's strange how living in a cold, dark shatterdome can be less constricting than their airy reality. Newt sleeps for most of the bus ride, even though it's a short enough of one that napping is not necessary. His head lolls, first to the side and then onto Hermann's shoulder. By the time they disembark, one of them has a newfound energy and the other has a patch of drool on the sleeve of his shirt and tired eyes.

“ I always feel like I'm on a school trip when I do things like this,” Newt observes, reaching for Hermann's hand to lead him on a self guided tour (or an opportunity to get lost - his preferred form of tourism.) “Will we get some mediocre bagged lunch? Or is there a shop where we can buy some potato soup with sad hot dogs floating on the top?”

“ I think the French would scoff at that as a food option, generally speaking.”

“ Well, that cute old lady who thinks we're married excepted, I don't really like the French all that much.”

“ Well, who do you like?” he answers drily. “So I know where to abscond with you to.”

“ Boston is probably too obvious, right? Is Dunkin even still a thing? That’s pretty much the only good thing there. I don't think I've been to that part of the world in...shit. Ages, honestly.”

“ Boston is definitely too obvious, or any place we've previously lived. Though I suppose if we had stayed in China under their noses we might have managed.”

“ I don't want to be there. I wanted to be far away.”

“ Not that I gave you a choice.” It comes out more as an apology than as a statement, even though he knows not to apologize for this. This was the best possible option and he did what he felt he had to. Nothing more, nothing less.

“ Well, you'd managed to obtain a helicopter and were telling me to come with you, I think I would have gone to Antarctica at that point in time.”

“ We should be admiring the lavender, not trying to flatter each other.”

“ But if the flattery works...”

“ It's not,” he deadpans, dropping his hand only because he sees it as a way to get Newt to follow if he walks ahead.

Newt does follow him.

The bus doesn't leave until the early hours of the evening. They stop by an overpriced food stand and buy drinks (a regional but bland beer for Newt and red wine for Hermann) and share a baguette and some cheese. Sitting in the grass, they watch the other tourists stroll by. 

“ Does it ever fuck you up just how much this part of the world doesn't seem to change?” Newt asks at length. “Like half the world has been destroyed and yet Europe has been untouched, Africa is untouched...it's kind of crazy. Especially thinking about how easily you or I could have just not been fazed by this, up until the moment they realized the rest of the damn world matters.”

“ But it wasn't fate that would be, now was it? I am fairly certain you'd go as far as to call danger a kink and I...”

“ You're the most brilliant man on this earth, so naturally you tied yourself to a very important cause.”

“ A good point, but you're incorrect.” Hermann taps his cane on the ground, it’s done out of an awkward feeling, but the sound is alarmingly smug.

“ How is that?”

“ Second most brilliant man.” He smirks to himself, pleased that he’s delivered this line.

“ Ooh, now who's trying to be smooth? I've been trying to flatter you all day and you've been untouchable.”

“ I didn't say anything about being untouchable. I can assure you that I'm here for the touching.”

“ Oh, is that so?” 

Newt leans in, his breath smelling not unpleasantly hoppy as he presses a small kiss to Hermann's mouth. This easy and gentle sort of affection is something that still feels so new and wonderful. Hermann imagines the only thing better than this feeling new is this feeling immensely familiar to him. For not the first time, he dares to hope that they will get the chance to get horribly used to each other in this new and wonderful way.

They stay kissing on the grass for more than is decent by either Hermann's or society's standards for PDA, but there's such a thing as being too happy to care. They lay down to kiss, like two over-eager teenagers and, when receiving a dirty look from passers-by, it's Hermann who gleefully lifts his middle finger to them. This show of rebellion naturally only makes him all the more kissable to Newt. They only cease when it's necessary to get on the bus and even then the departure seems rather hesitant.

If any of the other riders continue with the dirty looks, they don't notice. The ride is spent listening to one set of earbuds, as Hermann flips through Newt's music collection and refers to at least half of it as utter rubbish. He doesn't think much of it is actually rubbish at all and he knows that Newt knows that. It’s part of some game they’re playing that never seems to end. This time, he's the one who falls asleep, only a few minutes before their final stop.

By the time they return to the cottage, it's late. They spend most of the walk home distracted by talking or getting lost or wandering down to the water. Hermann feels giddy, like this is some sort of love that should be saved for first loves or young loves or anything but two men of their age who have been through what they have. It's a blessing that they can share this.

Hermann makes them tea once they're safely back inside, hoping to counteract any chill in the air. By the time he's finished with the tea, Newt's already found his way into bed, so he follows him to the bedroom, setting down their respective mugs on their respective nightstands.

"Thanks," Newt says, half muffled by the blankets. He slowly sits up, taking the mug in his hand and daring a sip. "It's perfectly made."

"It's the equivalent of drinking a large amount of sugar."

"Yes. It's perfect. Like I said."

He shakes his head but doesn't bother to argue further, instead choosing to focus on undressing. He's aware of the particular set of eyes on him as he goes about this particular routine and while he feels self conscious, he's more curious about how he must look to someone else. Someone who presumably desires him, at least all of the evidence points to that. His body has always felt like a means to an end to him and he’s not likely to ever become vain, but having a consistent and enthusiastic partner has made him think about the aesthetics of his body - naturally lanky and pale and surprisingly nimble. A perfect contrast to Newt’s body, naturally compact and full with ruddy tones. When he's in his night clothes, he moves to the bed himself, settling in comfortably.

"I don't know how you drink that when it's still scalding," he comments as he reaches for the book he keeps on the nightstand and then fusses with his glasses.

"I was hoping if we got the tea out of the way..." Newt deliberately trails off.

"Yes?" He's aware how much like a grumpy old man he must look, side-eyeing Newt from over the rim of his glasses.

"Well, we were getting sort of frisky earlier and I was hoping to continue where we left off."

"Frisky is a new one from you."

"You don't always have to turn this into a teasing thing, you know."

There's hurt in the words and he feels a pang of regret for always taking Newt's comments like this. Teasing is natural for him, no doubt, but it's also a defense mechanism to hide more tender emotions lurking beneath a prickly exterior.

"I only tease your word choice, not the feelings behind it, I can assure you."

"Oh?"

"In fact, I'm suddenly not in the mood for tea at all." Within a few moments, both his book and glasses are cast safely aside.

"Then what are you in the mood for?"

"You."

It's not the smoothest line, and it's very predictable, but it's very efficient in initiating eager, fervent kissing. There's something to be said about how easy it is to please Newt and it's gratifying that someone can need so little from him to be satisfied. Hermann doesn't have to serve himself up on a platter to please this man and he'll forever be grateful for this. He surprises even himself when he’s the one who moves to straddle Newt, sliding a hand down his chest and down to his stomach, resting it there before he ventures too far. He becomes acutely aware that Newt is not wearing anything beneath the covers, which likely explains the eagerness to get into bed; this was intended as a surprise. He’s glad for the ease of access if nothing else.

Newt's thought process must not be too far off, as his own hands reach for the hem of Hermann's sleep shirt, asking wordless permission to tear away these layers. The permission is granted with the rather elegant lift of Hermann's arms. It's only fair to level the playing field, after all. Once divested of his top, Hermann begins the pleasant work of kissing and stroking down Newt's body, starting along his jaw and trailing delicately down neck to chest to chest and down further to regions that he doesn't have polite words for: only the raunchy or the scientific.

It took several encounters to work up to being comfortable doing this - Hermann does not consider himself a prude, but there's still something particularly crass about this particular act of pleasure. After the first time, though, when Newt's stream of conscious thoughts turned into the softest noises of enjoyment only at the very, very end, he found himself more and more eager to indulge. He almost hesitates to pull away, as though he's the one suddenly being deprived of pleasure (perhaps this is true) and rests his cheek against Newt's pleasantly soft stomach for a few moments. He's met with a disappointed and needy groan and an expectant look. Hermann needs to explain himself, then.

"I'm not done with you yet. I was rather hoping we could -"

He doesn't get the chance to finish the thought, as Newt passes him a small bottle from the nightstand drawer. If he wasn't so high on the heady feeling of being so infatuated with another human, he'd analyze why it is so easy to anticipate each other's wants and needs, but that doesn't seem as relevant in that moment as the sheer intensity of the want itself. If they had started this as younger men, no matter how much they cared for each other, they'd surely have burned out too soon.

As it stands, there's probably too much laughing and a few awkward moments for this to be some great and epic love. But it's what they've been given and neither of them have a word of complaint about it. They awkwardly shift on the bed to find the ideal position, then realize that Hermann is still wearing his bottoms, which leads to more fumbling. Immediately after, Newt uses the opportunity to cast his glasses aside.

“Is it weird if I ask you to get under the covers?” Newt asks. “It’s sort of cold.”

Hermann huffs out a laugh and tugs the blanket up and over them.

“Are you ready? Relaxed? Calm?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Newt holds still and braces himself against the headboard.

The first movements are awkward and graceless and Hermann supposes that if pleasure was not involved, they’d continue to be so. He attempts to move steadily and firmly, rolling his hips slowly. This position, as with most they’ve tried, puts some strain on his leg, and he’s unsure how long it’ll last.

“Do you need-?” Newt asks, running a hand down his back.

“Yes. Please.”

He carefully pulls out and moves to lay on his back. Newt gives him a few moments to adjust before settling in his lap. If Newt has any objection with needing to take a more active role in their sex life, he’s certainly never said anything about it, and rides him with the same enthusiasm he does most everything. Hermann enjoys having a handful of Newt’s bum and the closeness of Newt bracing himself against his chest, grazing his fingers against Hermann’s nipples. He realizes he’s staring and must be making some very concentrated faces, but he wants to remember these moments forever.

When he feels his own orgasm approaching, he realizes he’s been inattentive and turns his full attention to Newt’s cock, stroking it hard and fast until Newt reaches his release. Newt takes the few needed moments to come down from that high before he has to move off of him, taking his cock in hand and stroking him to completion.

They collapse afterwards - two boneless and satisfied creatures under the covers. For a moment, there's no noise but ragged breathing and then the spell is broken.

"Do you think the tea is still warm enough to drink?" Newt asks, shifting slightly on top of Hermann.

Hermann takes this cue to move so they’re not uncomfortably tangled, but doesn't move very far at all. Newt takes the initiative to venture to the bathroom and obtain a washcloth for both of them. Hermann is grateful that the one exception to Newt’s cleanliness routine seems to be as it applies to his person, and any dealings with bodily fluids.

"I'm going to assume the tea's gone cold, otherwise that might be an insult to our stamina at this point in time,” he answers, once Newt’s back in the room.

Newt laughs. It's the kind of laugh that makes Hermann's stomach do flips, which is not a realistic assessment of what is occurring. It also seems a bit absurd to feel like this so soon after a round of something far more intimate than a shared laugh.

"That's probably the closest thing to a sex joke you're ever going to tell, eh?" Newt says, once he's done laughing.

"I can tell jokes, Newton. We did just, for lack of any better word coming to my mind, fuck, after all, so I'm not some repressed prude."

"No, you're not. You got really intense back there."

He feels himself flush down to his chest and suddenly he's grateful that the lights are out. At his age he should be past the stage of feeling awkward about these sorts of things. Newt moves back into the bed, laying on his side so he can look at Hermann for a few moments before closing his eyes to rest.

"I didn't hurt you or anything?" Hermann asks, because he always asks and always fears.

"If you had, you'd have known, trust me. I was the one who basically suggested that we do that, so I knew what I was in for. You're pretty intense with everything you do - it's like sexy hyperfocus."

"I suppose so long as it's sexy."

"Do you even know how sexy most of the things you do are? And I'm including the fact that you feel the need to iron the majority of your laundry in that list. Babe, you're like… honestly it's a miracle I lasted as long as I did in your presence without melting into a puddle of goo at your feet."

"I - er. I can't say I've always felt the same. That is to say that one of the things I love best about you is that you are so wholly yourself, even with the rough and messy parts, which is something I've never allowed myself to have."

"I get it, Herms. I don't think you love me less because I leave my socks on the floor."

"I know. But since drifting with you, even while you were so inaccessible, I understand you more. And while I've cared for you for a long while, I think that understanding we have is pivotal to our happiness."

“So we’re clear here, you can just say that you think I’m sexy and then we can go to sleep.”

“Yes, you’re very sexy, Newton.”

Newt scoots in closer, draping a leg over Hermann in a dramatic show of something like possessiveness. They're both, despite taking the effort to clean up, a bit uncomfortably warm and sweaty but neither seems to want to budge. It's all too natural to fall asleep curled up like this. 

 

It’s not the shouting that wakes him for once, but rather the very painful kick to the shin (blessedly or perhaps not to his good leg) and a smack across the face. Hermann’s first reaction is to sit up and shake Newt awake, but thankfully Newt has handled the waking up himself, panting heavily with the exertion of some terrible dream. Though his daily progress seems immense, the dreams are only getting worse.

“Hermann?” Newt asks, and there’s a skepticism in his tone, as though he doubts that anyone is even there at all.

“I’m here, Newton.” The pain in his leg seems to bloom by the moment, but he disregards it. There are more important matters to attend to. “Was it a nightmare again?” He rubs soothing circles against Newt’s back.

Newt doesn’t answer and instead buries his face in his hands. The sounds he makes are anguished, something between a sob and a heave and for a moment Hermann worries that he must be seriously ill. He’s not equipped to deal with this kind of trauma but repeating that to himself isn’t going to fix where they’re at in this moment, in the dead of the night in the warmth of their bed. The only natural step he can consider is to wrap Newt in his arms, whispering gentle reassurances that he’s not even sure Newt can hear. It doesn’t matter, because he realizes they’re as much for himself.

When the crying is done, there’s a stillness between them. Newt does not move to pull away, but does make an undignified attempt at giving thanks, which ends in him accidentally rubbing his nose over Hermann’s shoulder. This does force Hermann to pull away long enough to reach for a tissue to awkwardly wipe at his shoulder.

“I’m a mess,” Newt admits. “I’m so sorry.”

“For being a mess? Because I was fully aware of that from the moment I met you. The rest is hardly your fault.”

“I can’t imagine you enjoy waking up like this about every other night.”

“I can’t imagine you do either. I’m used to the nightmares, I had my own for many years, so waking up like this is nothing new to me. It makes the nights I get to sleep through the night all the more enjoyable.”

“You’re a god awful liar, babe.”

Hermann smiles despite himself. Waking up in the night like this is awful and stress-inducing but if it means he can be here to help Newt, he’ll take it over anything else in the world.

“Care to share what the dream was about, then?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t make me. Just this once, please.”

“Alright, just this once.” He doesn’t want to become the man who pries traumas out of someone else to force along healing. This comes naturally. He knows about the torture now and he knows some of what the lost decade was like for him, he knows that Newt’s got it buried deep in his subconscious. He also knows that some of it Newt can’t remember, he can only feel the phantom aches. He conceals it well. “Do you need anything to fall back asleep?”

“I think I’m fine now. Thanks.”

They both settle back down under the covers. As per usual, Hermann waits for Newt to fall asleep before he even ventures sleeping. This time, though, it’s already light out before he can bring himself to drift back off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Walking is very difficult the next day. Hermann has a very large, very bold bruise on his reliable leg and the other seems to be acting up even more than usual out of sympathy. Instead of admitting that this may be a problem, he uses it as an excuse to stay in bed until late and Newt goes to the market without him that morning. It gives him an immense amount of stress when Newt does anything alone these days, but he’s not his keeper and if he were, that would be the most surefire way to ruin the relationship they’ve built. Besides, as much as he wants to watch over Newt, he does need to make sure he’s doing the proper amount of self care.

It takes a good deal longer than it should to get dressed and to the living room, but he manages well enough. It would take more than a few stolen months to become unfamiliar with the efforts of living alone and caring for oneself in this capacity. While he’s at leisure to not hide his rather nasty looking bruise, he props his leg up, admiring the coloration of it- the garish yellow and purple tones coming forth from his naturally pale legs. He’s only had a few moments to admire when his phone rings. It’s tempting to let it ring, he realizes, to let what’s going to happen happen, but he can’t do that.

“Hello?”

“Gottlieb. The PPDC has some new leads. I can’t talk much longer, but they’re moving their search to France. There’s been an alleged sighting.”

“Thank you for this information,” he answers neutrally. Betraying his whereabouts to anyone is bad news for all parties involved. “Do you have any more information for me?”

“They’re talking about releasing visuals in the next week if they don’t find anything soon. I don’t know how deeply you’re hiding, but be prepared to go deeper.”

There is no conceivable way to make this happen. Neither of them can go hide in a hole for an extended amount of time. All they can do is hope and stall.

“Please do as much as you can to keep that from happening.”

“I can’t put my career and freedom on the line for two fugitives for much longer, mate.”

“I understand.”

He hangs up the phone. In the panic that the conversation wrought, he hadn’t noticed Newt stepping into the room. His own panicked look is met with one of concern as two bags full of produce fall to the ground. Newt’s almost immediately on the ground, looking at the bruise not with admiration but deep concern.

“Did I -” he asks, looking up.

“Yes, and we have bigger concerns at the moment. Pack your things immediately, we’re going to the train station.”

Train is a safe bet, at least to get them a bit out of the way. They can pay in cash and disboard sooner than planned if needed. As much as Hermann likes the idea of flying far away (Patagonia is really starting to gain appeal again) it’s not realistic to take these big leaps far away. He has to think of their immediate safety. Thankfully, most everything in the cottage can stay without issue. Their absentee landlord won’t likely even notice until no rent has been paid for a few months. It’s highly unlikely that they even have months at this point in time before they’re found out. If they’re lucky, they have weeks.

The entire ordeal of packing takes maybe an hour, culminating in a fight over whether or not Newt should bring his guitar with them. Hermann’s hoping to only bring the essentials, but Newt’s definition of essentials varies. Worst case scenario, he supposes, they will have to leave the guitar somewhere or other anyway. He can’t argue with someone’s desire to hold on to some source of normalcy, no matter how weak that concept was in the first place.

 

The train ride is one of the most tense of his life. They’ve managed to get two tickets to the Netherlands, where Hermann does not expect them to actually arrive. It’s best to let everything about this be random- unplanned, unprocessed. He’s wanted to be deliberate so badly but suddenly he can’t imagine that anything but throwing themselves to fate can give them hope. Deep down Hermann knows, though, that there is no random and there is no coincidence. Everything happens by design. 

Through some sort of miracle, he dozes off on the train and is woken by Newt, nudging him at what proves to be their final destination. It’s already dark outside.

“Hey, bud. Time to wake up and find us something to eat.”

Hermann mumbles something, but acquesises and they slip off the train and into a strange city with a strange language neither of them speak more than a few words of. Still, they manage to find some food to eat for dinner and a hotel that doesn’t seem to pry or treat their forged IDs skeptically. For his part, Hermann is just glad to find a place where he can sit and elevate his leg. Or both of his legs, after the night he’s had.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Newt announces upon check-in and honestly Hermann could just walk out then, maybe disappear into the sunset and leave Newt to his own devices. Drawing attention to their situation will not help anything.

It gets them an upgraded suite anyway, and he can’t find himself bothering to be angry about it any longer. He had promised Newt that at their next stop, they’d get rings. He’s just not so sure if he meant that as a part of the disguise or in the more pointed way. The point seems moot now, they need to continue moving more than they need to discuss if now is a good time for marriage, of all things. Marriage is an abstract concept for a different reality where the walls are not closing in on them.

The honeymoon suite is gaudy and far too large. Everything in it seems to have the faintest tinge of pink and there’s something unnerving about the visuals of newlyweds coming through here to share their first moments together as a married couple. It’s both unrealistic expectations and something alarmingly outdated and heterosexual. Hermann finds the room to his standard otherwise, and opts to take the opportunity to take a bath in the oversized jet tub. A soak will help relax him after a very abrupt and tense day and will hopefully soothe his leg to keep them moving the next day.

It feels silly, filling the tacky tub as he sits in the hotel provided dressing gown. This is not his usual practical sort of life choice, but he needs these indulgences. He’s not sure what awaits him when the PPDC catches up to them, but Hermann is fairly convinced it at least involves a brief stint in a jail cell. And that’s the best case scenario. The water is too hot when he slips in, but it feels so soothing to have the chance to feel like he’s stepping out in new skin. He’s just closed his eyes and sunk into the tub (with his bad leg propped up on the edge) when he hears the door open. Hermann cracks open an eye to the sight of Newt holding the beat-up guitar standing in the doorway.

“Is something wrong, Newton?” he asks, already reaching for the rim of the tub to stand.

“No, just thought I’d come in here and serenade you.”

“Oh, by all means,” he answers drily, but he cannot quite bring himself to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.

Newt moves to sit on the edge of the tub, dramatically tuning the guitar. He ends up singing an off kilter and out of tune version of a Bright Eyes song Hermann only half remembers from his youth. He loves it, nonetheless. He loves Newt, no matter what weird idea he’s bringing forth and that’s the core of it all. Once the guitar is safely put aside, Hermann sits up enough in the tub to demand a kiss, which is more than willingly given. Moments later, he takes it a step further and pulls Newt into the tub along with him, still fully clothed.

“My socks are wet!” Newt exclaims, as though this is the only real offense. “Could have given a bit of a warning, Herms.”

“I’m sorry.” (He’s not.) “But if we’re going to pretend to be a honeymooning couple, we should play the part by sharing a bath in an oversized pink bathtub.”

“I’d sort of assumed you wanted the space after being shoved in a train with me all afternoon.”

Hermann’s hands wander up under Newt’s very damp t-shirt. He probably could have just asked and then there would not be so many waterlogged clothes to contend with, but this seemed like the right choice at the moment. He helps him out of the shirt, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor where it lands with a very unpleasant and very wet sound.

“My glasses are sort of getting steamed up here,” Newt adds, carefully folding them and putting them aside. He hoists himself back up to the side of the tub, only to awkwardly strip out of his remaining clothes.

“Is that better?” Hermann asks, only after Newt’s slipped back into the tub. They’ve made a mess.

“Much better. It’s the socks, you know. That’s the worst sensation in the world.”

“Mhm. But it was a very effective way to get you naked quickly.”

“Oh, babe, I know we haven’t been doing this for very long, but I think you know me well enough to know that all you gotta do is ask.”

Hermann laughs. He has no doubt of the truth of this statement.

“Fair enough. Getting you with clothes on is becoming more of a challenge these days.”

“I’m not hearing a complaint in that statement.”

“There definitely is none.”

Newt searches for Hermann’s hip under the water, giving it a very gentle squeeze. There’s not really a graceful way to take a bath together, despite how the romantic movies have always made it seem.

“How’s your leg?”

“Both are doing just fine, rest assured.” 

They do feel just fine and he’s far too busy being distracted by the proximity of the freckles that dot Newt’s cheeks to care about any pain in the world. He kisses him because he has to in that moment, and when they shift in the tub to accommodate the kissing all the better, water splashes over the side of the tub. They laugh and kiss some more and it takes them some time before they leave the tub, stepping into their now wrinkled night clothes. By then, the water’s gone cold and they have to bundle up closely in the bed to stay warm.

 

Awareness takes a few moments to flood in. Hermann’s not exactly awake, but he feels Newt shifting on the bed beside him. This isn’t a nightmare, it’s likely just the restlessness of a man who cannot sleep. It’s comforting to feel Newt move more or less over him and he smiles softly to himself, dimly registering that he should try to wake himself up. It’s still the middle of the night. When Newt straddles him, he moves his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

Two hands settle around his throat and start to squeeze- he feels a strange sense of deja vu before he can process what’s happening and then all at once Hermann is profoundly awake and desperately trying to speak. He’s not sure what he would say if he could, but it doesn’t seem like he has time to say much at all, when it comes down to it.

“You fool,” Newt but definitely not Newt says. “You’re all fools. You think you can keep him free? We let this happen, every moment of it, and now-”

Hermann’s used the last bit of his strength to reach for Newt’s hands, to try to break free with a touch. This time- this very blessed time it works. He’s released in a moment and the look on Newt’s face, what he can make out in the dark, is so profoundly confused and terrified. But then he’s gone, bolting off the bed. Hermann sits up then, coughing until he can regain his breath. He tries to cry out after Newt, but the croaky sound that comes out can’t carry outside of the room.

Newt could be anywhere in the hotel, he registers once he hears the door slam. It’s paramount that he catches him in time in case - but he can’t dwell on that. He needs to find him for the sake of finding him first and then they’ll deal with whatever comes next. Adrenaline pumps through him, propels him out of the room and into the hallway.

“Newton!” he calls in the first direction he hears another person.

He’s met with the sound of someone pointedly trying to stay still. Hermann proceeds with caution, his heart beating clear up in his throat. There’s no guarantee the person he’s looking for is even really the person he wants to see, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not leaving Newt alone.

“Newt, please,” he says softly into the darkness. “If you’re going to run off, you need to be wearing more than boxers at the very least.” He coughs feebly. Okay, talking is hard, but he’ll manage.

In a few moments, he can make out the outline of Newt in the darkness and relief floods his body. He’s also reminded then that he’s been choked and ran out to the hallway abruptly without any assistance. His legs buckle beneath him and he has to brace himself against the wall. This brings Newt forward. Hermann flinches when he reaches out a hand to assist him, and if he weren’t feeling suddenly fearful, he’d regret this reaction immensely. 

“They’re still here,” Newt remarks, and while it’s obvious, it needs said. “They’ve been watching the whole time.”

“I know.” 

He allows Newt to sling an arm around him and walk him back to the couch in their hotel room. He suspects that the concern for him is the only thing keeping Newt from bolting away from him in these moments. The dim light of a singular hotel lamp is all Hermann can bear at that moment. He’s terrified of clarity and staring across the way at a changed man. This is a cowardly thought and he must subdue it.

“Have you -” Hermann clears his throat. “Have you suspected?”

“N-no. The dreams though - the fucking dreams. I - I am so sorry. Fuck. I’ve got to go -”

“It’s the middle of the night. If you know they’re there, you can fight them.”

“It’s not that simple! They take over my entire damn head,” Newt explains, concealing fear with the clipped tones of anger. “And now they’ve got their fucking claws into - into the most important things I’ve felt.”

“Oh.”

Theoretically, the two of them have just given earth’s biggest threat a front row seat to Newt’s biggest weakness. Or at least a glaring weak spot. Hermann feels sick to his stomach because of all the things that could have happened, this seems like the worst in some way.

“I have to go, Hermann. Now. Because I think they got their point across and we both know the first thing they’re going to do when they get hold of me fully is kill you.”

“You’re just assuming they’re going to get control?”

“I’m not going to risk it when your life is on the line.”

“Where would you even go?”

He’s trying to meet Newt with logic, but he’s not really sure that logic applies here. He’s reasoning with a man who just attempted to kill him in their shared bed and neither of them want that to be their legacy.

“Back. I have to go back.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Dude! You don’t get to make this decision for me anyway but like… where else do you think I have to go? They’re the only people equipped with getting this out of my head.”

“They tortured you for weeks and it didn’t work. It didn’t actually work.”

“And if I stay free? Who’s gonna dig these things out of my brain?” He leans forward, his face further illuminated by the light. It’s clear he’s been silently crying. “There’s no one who has any clue what to do.”

“I can try.”

“You’re right, you can try. I’d love a world where you could try, but I’m not risking it. They’re going to try to kill you. Pointedly. We’ve talked about this, for God’s sake.”

“It’s a risk we’ve got to take, darling.”

“Hey, don’t darling me,” Newt pushes back. “Because this is my decision. I need to go back. Because I’ve no doubt someone along the line’s gonna kick my ass if I try to end the world, but I can’t guarantee there’ll be someone to stop me from hurting you and I can’t risk that.”

“We can solve this. Together. They won’t let you free for the rest of your life.”

“And that’s my call to make, man. They were going to get me anyway. We’re not smarter than a whole organization backed by a shitton of governments, and you know it takes every ounce of pride I’ve got to admit that. Our days were numbered anyway and I was just glad to have them while I could. If I go now and go willingly, maybe they’ll get off your back, let you go free.”

“Let me come with you, at least.”

“No. There’s no reason for us to both spend our lives miserable.”

It’s true enough. They’d lock him up as well and the likelihood of him ever seeing Newt again is very slim. In fact, the likelihood of someone finding an excuse to execute him seems remarkably high. Newt’s a valuable asset as a prisoner if nothing else, and worth keeping alive for some time. Hermann is, and always will be, a sensible man, even if he hates that this is true at this very moment.

“I can help you,” he finds himself saying, nonetheless. He has no plan.

“Babe.” Newt shifts closer and now Hermann can see, with some relief, that the man in front of him has a softness in his eyes that can only belong to his Newt. “We both know that I need more help than what one man can give. Love’s this really powerful thing, but I need the resources that the PPDC has or else I’ll fall to pieces and ruin everything that made running away worth it.”

Hermann takes his hands, those hands that so very recently were wrapped around his throat, in his own. He’s not afraid of them, which is probably why Newt should go. He’s always going to be optimistic and a fool where Newt is concerned and that’s not fair to either of them, especially given that this could mean death for him.

“How soon will you leave?” He’s fought so hard to keep this and now it’s all slipping through his fingers. “Do you need help with anything?”

“First thing in the morning. I need to plan and God knows I’m awful at planning travel.”

They have hours left, then, and they’re bleary and tired hours. He’d sell his soul for a sun-kissed afternoon over this fearful darkness. There’s nothing to be done, though, so he leans in and presses a kiss to Newt’s forehead. If he took the kiss any further, he’d end up wrapping him up and never let him go. In that moment, Newt reaches for him, rests a hand against his cheek. He should be afraid but mostly he’s relieved for some reason he can’t exactly place.

“I wish we could go back to earlier tonight,” Newt says, “when we were both naked and making a mess of the bathroom and I felt so certain we’d cheated something and bought more time.”

“They could have gone weeks longer. Months longer. I’ve run the data.”

“Ever the mathematician. We had a handful of really good weeks, you know?”

“We had some very excellent weeks.”

Newt kisses the corner of his mouth, not wanting to break this delicate thing they’re holding between them. Hermann wants so badly to smash it to pieces, but he’s frankly terrified. It’s unclear precisely what happens but mere moments later, they’re kissing as if their lives depend on it. In that moment, the statement may be more truth than hyperbole.

The morning Hermann wakes to, despite the sunshine pouring in through the window, is the bleakest he’s encountered in months. The spot beside him has gone cold, so there’s no point in even trying to look. That disappointment does not have to be a recurring one in Hermann’s morning. He sits up very carefully. Every bit of him feels sore from old injuries or new injuries or exertion or the eager entwining of bodies. Intellectually, he knows they probably had better use of their last hours than sleeping and love-making (he’ll allow this phrasing for this one instance) but emotionally it seemed like the most fitting way to say goodbye. He’s already dreading the pitying look when he checks out of the hotel alone and almost regrets the lie about being newlyweds. But he can’t because that’s the closest to a happy ending they were ever going to get.

Hermann feels at least ten years older than he is and the weight of months without focusing his care energy on himself seems to be crashing down in that moment. He has to pack his things and go on, he has to hope in time he can be reunited with Newt or hear something about him or have any sliver of hope, and he can’t do any of those things if he doesn’t keep moving along.

Wading through their things, it’s obvious that Newt has taken nothing more than his wallet and a few choice possessions with him. There was no plan of turning back or going anywhere but to his destination. The guitar looks forlorn and awkward on the bathroom floor and, while Hermann doesn’t need it, he packs it away with his things the next morning. Two sets of baggage seems like far too much, but he can’t imagine carrying any less.


	7. Chapter 7

There’s no appeal to Hermann in finding a small place to live in Bavaria, but he has enough connections there that it’s easy, and ease is all he wants at that moment. Besides, the fear of running into his elderly father seems like the closest equivalent to the constant anxiety he was dealing with prior to this. Because he’s got more funds than expected (shamefully living off of Newt’s money) he doesn’t try to find work. He’s tempted to just call this an early retirement and focus on doing whatever work appeals to him as a hobby.

Right now, his only real hobbies have become scouring any and all news sources for updates and chainsmoking cigarettes. Neither of these hobbies are ones he’d like to have, but it is what it is. When he manages to book time with a physio, they’re too disappointed by the months of neglect to his leg to even ask if he’s doing something as foolish as smoking and the rest no one knows about. It’s an old and nasty habit, but it gives him comfort in these dubious times. He can quit at any time. Really.

The other constant is his old burner phone, which he keeps near just in case he gets a call. It’s hard to guess what the call would be about. A death. A setback. A triumph. A simple bloody update would be something. No dreaded conclusion can outweigh his fear of never knowing. There’s a special cruelty in feeling so close and connected to someone but being forced apart and never given answers. Assuming Newt is alive and moderately well seems disingenuous but the other thoughts fill him with such a cold dread that while he knows they are more likely, he tries his hardest to not entertain the thought. 

The short and the long of it is that his nightmares come back.

Here’s the catch: they’re not all nightmares. Some nights it’s dreams so tenderly exquisite that they break his heart all the same. One night he dreams of only images, of tracing his hands along Newt’s back and shoulders, chronicling the places where he can see freckles even beneath the tattoos. He wishes so badly he’d told him in person how much he loves this, how it’s proof that the parts that are the most human will always come out. In his dreams he doesn’t share this either, he only kisses every inch of skin that he’s lucky enough to touch.

As if a spell has been broken, he wakes that night in a cold sweat. On instinct, he fumbles for the old phone and he’s got two missed calls. He frantically calls back but the line is dead. Gone. In the bleakness of that night, something snaps inside of him and he starts to cry. There’s a hollowness in his chest that he cannot reconcile and he worries what this means, but resigns himself to a future of not knowing.

No one calls again.

The next day, he unpacks Newt’s bags. He couldn’t quite bring himself to, because it meant compartmentalizing that part of his life and deciding what stays or goes. Inside, he finds a variety of graphic tees haphazardly shoved into the bag and socks that are loose mixed in. Of course there’s no organization, they’d left in a hurry and he wouldn’t have expected anything else to begin with.

Ultimately he plans to donate the items, but he’s finding it very difficult to do so at the moment. Instead, he sets about carefully washing many of the items. (A few of the larger t-shirts he leaves out for his own personal use.) Each item is lovingly and thoroughly checked, lest Newt had put something unsavory in one of his pockets. In Newt’s most well worn jeans he finds a trove of items: a handkerchief, some crumpled papers, a receipt for pastries, a kinder surprise toy, and a singular and tightly folded piece of paper. When he unwraps it, he finds the note he had given him that night after the storm, his own inarticulate reply to a confession.

_ I love you. _

Retrospectively, it seems bold and forward, but it was the honest truth. It certainly got the point across, after all. Hermann himself is a meticulous keeper of letters and has been traveling with a cache from his own collection from twenty years past. Newt, while more openly romantic, he had presumed to be less prone to this sort of sentiment. Judging by the creases on the note, betraying frequent viewings, Hermann finds himself drawing back that judgment.

Maybe he could have been better at reassuring Newt of his feelings, of sharing how he’d felt, so he didn’t feel the need to cling to a feeble note. Maybe if he’d done this or that or something differently, they’d both be in a flat in Amsterdam together at that very moment. But no, love alone cannot save the day and he has to remind himself of this. Science, that most beautiful of things that he’s spent his entire life believing in, can save this and love can help it along, but love alone is not power.

Instead of chainsmoking or frantically searching the internet for articles that day, he realizes he must throw himself back into research. He’s taken all this time off of working and it’s time to put himself back to work. Sure, he cannot access any parts and he cannot access the one person he wants to help, but there has to be some mathematics to entertain him in this trying time. He must keep going and find something to keep himself occupied.

It’s astonishing how much and yet how profoundly little scientific discovery can be made without a lab. Less astonishing is how much a landlord can yell at an otherwise ideal tenant about keeping weird hours and making a kitchen into a complete and utter mess. After he’s had eviction threatened for the third time in a week, he has to accept that he needs to scale back his efforts at creating an at-home lab. He really thinks the landlord should be grateful he hasn’t found some kaiju bits to toss around the kitchen in the first place, because that’s a horror show no man should ever have to live through. It really should concern him how much he’s become like Newt in these regards overtime.

The goal of keeping his mind occupied has certainly been met, but he still finds his hands reaching for something he can’t quite explain. There’s an unfairness in the fact that he technically hadn’t had enough time to become accustomed to being with Newt, but he still longs for him as though they’ve had decades. He can still profoundly remember what it feels like to wake up with Newt plastered against his back, an arm flung securely around his middle, the blankets unceremoniously kicked off in the night. Now, he can sleep under as many covers as he likes and he wakes up with all of them. It goes without saying that he’d trade that away easily for the sound of soft snoring and someone to place his cold feet on when he wakes in the middle of the night.

After another week, he starts the process of sorting Newt’s things to donate to a local shop. If he assembles a box and feels a bit of shame about the t-shirt he’s shoved under his pillow, he certainly won’t ever admit it. There are worse things to be than a fool for love and Hermann’s resigned himself to this, too. He sets the guitar by the box and leaves them near the doorway. It’s not time to let go yet, but he’s got to steel himself for that moment. The sign will come to him in shining clarity and he can acknowledge that Newt is not coming home.

This time when he receives the phone call, it wakes him. Hermann’s up in a moment, fumbling for the phone and eagerly pressing to answer.

“Hello?”

“What’s the nearest airport to you?”

“Why?” 

He may be half asleep, but he knows better than to give this information out freely over the phone.

“You’ve been given a full pardon and your job back, if you’ll have it. We’re gonna need all the help we can to fight these bastards.”

“I don’t care about my job,” he lies, “Is Newton-”

“Listen, I don’t really have much time. We’re going to have a plane sent for you, you’ve gotta tell us where you are.”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“He’s as annoying as I suspect he always is, but I think you need to see for yourself.”

“Will you  _ let _ me see for myself this time?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Munich.”

“You bastards were in Europe the whole time, weren’t you?”

“That’s a secret I will absolutely never tell.”


	8. Chapter 8

Hermann’s fairly confident this is not a trap, but even if it was, he wouldn’t honestly care. He’s being escorted back to the Shatterdome on a private plane and, if what Jake said was true, he’ll get both his job and his life back. He supposes, objectively, that it’s true that he must be incredibly difficult to replace in his job. Younger people with similar passions do not have the first hand experiences he does and it would be very difficult for them to obtain them, given how specific his interests have become. Still, he’s not precisely sure what his job will entail at this point in time. It’s unnerving to know that he may be a part of declaring war on a whole other world yet again. Honestly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

He sleeps on the plane, but never soundly enough to conceive of missing the landing. It’s hard to guess the reception he’ll receive when he steps off the plane, but he’s relieved to be met with a variety of understated looks as he steps back into the now unfamiliar ranks of people. Some look confused, others nonplussed, and he can detect a few pointed smiles in his direction. Jake is running late to meet him, but jogs out with his usual alacrity and confidence.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been calling me every half hour asking how we managed this,” Jake says in lieu of a greeting.

“For once in my life, the how seems very secondary, though I suppose it’s good to point me in the direction of who to thank.”

“Well, I’ll take some of the credit for that, but our friends at Shao industries waving around their funds were a big help. The nice thing about your organization being taken over by capitalist governments is they can be bought.”

“Can I see him?” he asks bluntly. He doesn’t need explanations, he needs proof, and these are very different things at the moment. “Is he himself?”

“Just be patient and follow me. He’s been in the medical wing lately.”

“What you said implied he’s-”

“Mental care, man,” Jake explains. “He asked to receive therapy and he still technically needs to be watched very closely so it seemed like the best option.”

He cannot even fathom complaining about that. Even if he’s allowed to be so closely in Newt’s life now, the help he’s receiving is the one sort of help he himself could never fully provide. Hermann turns back to see someone else unloading his things from the plane.

“I need to see him.”

Depending on what Newt himself has shared and how widely it’s been circulated, it’s unlikely that anyone present knows of the development in their relationship. Or maybe it’s not a real development at all, he hesitates, but a fabrication of their time so far away from everything they know. He has to dismiss that thought. He’s got proof enough of the permanence of their plans in the luggage being carelessly tossed about, at the very least.

“The plan was to take you to freshen up first, you’ve been traveling for a long time.”

“Inconsequential.” Hermann waves him off. “I need to see him. I can worry about everything else later.”

Jake doesn’t protest, but tries to weave him through the quickest path down to the medical ward. The looks become more pointed once he’s in the belly of the shatterdome, like everyone’s becoming increasingly eager or his own anxiety is palpable. Hermann is terrified of what he’s going to find, even if he wants to trust that it’s good.

He’s given a check over outside of the medical ward, but allowed to pass through as he is. It’s comforting to see that the room he’s led to is a room used for long-term healing - though he can’t imagine any single room being quite enough to contain Newt and his multitudes. If it’s by choice, it makes the entire difference. For a moment he thinks someone else is going to escort him in, but Jake simply crosses his arms and stands by the door.

“We’ll come get you when the visit’s gone too long. He’s technically not supposed to leave the room until he’s cleared, but otherwise you can stay as long as you like and technically we can’t stop him from leaving, since he’s here voluntarily. But we might have to stop him.”

“Thank you.”

Hermann raises his hand and knocks very gently on the door. A muttered “come in” is heard on the other side, and his throat constricts when he can pick up the familiar tones, unless he’s deceiving himself. He steps in, very carefully closing the door behind him. Newt is at a desk, tapping away at a device and clearly uninterested in socializing with another human. Hermann clears his throat.

Newt turns around abruptly, knocking down several items on the desk and almost toppling over the chair. He’s moving across the room in a flurry of nervous energy and excitement before he’s all but flinging himself at Hermann (ever mindful, even in his own overeager movements, of Hermann’s own physical limitations).

“Dude, it’s you,” Newt says against his neck. “You look like a fucking mess.”

“I just flew here on a very small plane,” he answers, wrapping his free arm around Newt’s middle. “And I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“I was so stressed about how to find you, like I’m a genius but I can’t conceive of how to find you somewhere out in the world.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t try to actively get back to you. I was… frankly I was terrified.”

He pulls away, albeit hesitantly. Newt takes his hand (fingers laced together) and leads him to the narrow bed, and they sit side by side, neither fully able to look the other in the eye.

“I didn’t expect you to. I wanted you to keep yourself safe, meaning not dead and not in prison. I figured we’d find our way back to each other. We’re really good at that.”

“Did they hurt you again?” he asks frankly. He can talk about Newt’s romantic ideals later, when he’s been given all the data.

“For a few days, yeah. I wasn’t really sure I was gonna make it out of this alive. But then sort of…I think someone stood up for me, which, shit, I’m not really sure how that happened. Shao hates my guts and she stepped in, now that everyone knows what’s been going on. Apparently someone threatened to leak the news to the press, they won’t really give me the details.”

“And then what happened?”

“They’re still trying out options and treatments, to be honest. I can’t leave the Shatterdome for a long time, but they think I should be fine, despite the episode. Really interesting how this possession shit works when you start to think of it as like...normal head shit, you know? Like it’s a disease that can come back, but with the right medication it doesn’t have to. They think I need to actively be drifting with a kaiju brain to go back to...that, but when I was dreaming I was ghost drifting a bit, which gave them a bit of a hold. Or at least that’s one theory...”

Hermann glances over to the disturbed desk and notices the series of pill bottles sitting across the back. Of course. This is not some bold and heroic cure for something terrible. This is a man battling his demons, though in this case the demons are more literal than usual.

“They’re not even sure what happened was the Precursors trying to come back,” Newt continues. “One of the doctors thinks it might have something to do with PTSD but given -” Newt balls his hands into fists. “Given what happened I’d almost rather anything that means it absolutely wasn’t me doing that. Not that I want to shirk responsibility I just…”

“It’s natural not to want to hurt someone you care about.”

“Love. Let’s not mince words, Herms.”

“Yes, about that -”

Newt noticeably winces in anticipation and Hermann’s immediately filled with regret.

“If what they say is true it might be in our best interest to not resume precisely where we were when you left.”

“If that’s what you want, sure.”

Newt doesn’t physically move away from him, but he might as well in all the ways his posture shifts.

“That is not what I want, Newton. Your healing process is not about what I want, but what you need and you may need your space.”

“Babe, if you’re afraid of me, that’s fine, but don’t act like this choice is in my best interest.”

“I am not afraid of you and you are not going to pick a fight because I’m concerned for you.”

“You’re ashamed of me, or want to go back to whatever life you have and shove me back into a box.”

He takes a steeling breath. “Yes, I have been offered my old job back, which I accepted. Yes, I am very glad for that and I won’t lie about that. Being unable to work before I was ready to retire was challenging for me, but it wasn’t as though the decision to be with you was undertaken out of boredom. Not resuming where we are means that we allow ourselves to resume from the beginning.”

“That’s not how adult relationships work and that’s not how my feelings for you work. If you have a problem going public or whatever, that’s on you, but don’t lie to me about it.”

“Newton, I’ve just arrived. You’ve clearly been having a conversation with a made up version of me in your head in anticipation of me wanting to break your heart, but that is not the reality of this situation. I’m here and I will be with you.”

He seeks out Newt’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of it. While he wants nothing more than to kiss him senseless, he doesn’t want to kiss him for the first time in so long when he’s very clearly upset. That’s unfair to both of them. At the very least, Newt is smiling one of his lopsided, goofy smiles, so the upset will hopefully be forgotten soon.

“Will you tell everyone that you let me call you baby sometimes?”

“Absolutely not and if you call me baby in front of other people, I will end everything in an instant,” he replies drily. “I will allow you to use my first name in professional settings, however.”

“Oh God, you really are in love with me, huh?”

“And it only took you twenty years to catch on.”

“No, I knew for certain a decade ago, after we drifted. Probably around the same time you caught on, right? Though I knew you wanted to get jiggy way sooner.”

His natural instinct is to tell Newt not to dwell on that idea of knowing for so long and the implications of it, but Newt is here to be in a better place mentally. That is what he’s wished for him this whole while. Maybe it’s time he works on wishing for that for himself.

“Do you know when they plan to release you?”

“I can technically go whenever I want, but I do use the word technically, because while I’m not a prisoner anymore, I’m still not allowed to leave the base and I shouldn’t be anywhere without an escort regardless.”

Something about Hermann’s reaction must be humorous, because Newt laughs the moment he turns to look at him.

“Dude, I don’t think having an escort will mean a surly man will watch us getting busy. I’m fairly certain you’ll do just fine when we’re alone.”

“That is a conflict of interest, Newton.”

“Yeah, well. The guys saying I gotta do this still tortured me so fuck them.”

 

He’s made a promise to come back soon, after he sits and talks with Newt for several hours, but he does have some other matters to attend to, so he leaves. The cadets, full of their usual energy, give him a tour as though he doesn’t have the entire layout memorized. His lab is still much the same, although his items are now all shoved into boxes. For good measure, he glares at the interns who have taken over the space for the time being. This will have to change immediately.

After the tour is done and the smattering of cadets who have been crowding around him disperse, he seeks out Jake again. Now that he’s more confident that Newt is not going to immediately perish under the treatment of the PPDC, he supposes it’s time he receives some answers on this matter. When he finds Jake, he’s in the mostly empty mess hall, talking in hushed tones to newly appointed Marshall Lambert.

“Pentecost,” Hermann speaks up, keeping his distance. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Jake gives his associate a smile and stands, making his way over to Hermann.

“You look like you need to be asleep, Gottlieb,” Jake begins. “I’m assuming by the fact that you’re not screaming at me that your friend is up to your standards?”

“He’s as well as he could be, given the circumstances. It is difficult to see him like this, though I know this is the care he needs most. I want to know everything that’s happened to him in the past two months.”

“You might want to sit down, then.”

Jake leads him to the table and Hermann gratefully sits across from him, staring across the table at the two younger men.

“Welcome back, Gottlieb,” Nate greets, picking at a slice of rather sad looking pie. “We’ll be very glad to have you working with us again.”

“Yes, yes. I am, of course, very glad to be back here, but I need information.”

“Dr. Geiszler turned himself in about two months ago,” Nate explains, “by calling every known phone number associated with the PPDC he could find from a pay phone somewhere in Hungary, which is very impressive.”

“At first we thought for sure we had the both of you,” Jake adds. “Figured it was a package deal, that’s how my dad always described it, anyway. But the stuffed shirts weren’t happy that he wasn’t willing to give up a location for you. I always figured he just didn’t know.”

“He did not know at that point in time,” Hermann admits. “I can only imagine what they did about that.”

“Yeah, and that’s the thing that changed everything, I suppose,” Jake states. “The fact that they were trying to come after you, when you’d only done what you thought was right, and he turned himself in the moment he thought he was a danger.”

“I’m very touched that anyone would be impacted by me but -” Hermann begins, but Jake cuts him off.

“Gottlieb, man. You were necessary for saving the world. Twice. Those bastards wouldn’t be here without you.”

“So what did you do? To get them to stop treating Newt like he was going to kill everyone?”

Nate rolls his eyes, as if in anticipation of a tall tale, something he may have heard before.

“We had Shao and Jules rig up a system to record a session with Newt,” Jake explains. “It wasn’t pretty and it’s not going to see the light of day, but it got the job done. Torturing prisoners of war is pretty much everything the PPDC is not supposed to be.”

Hermann winces at the thought of something that bad being recorded and preserved for all time, but he trusts the men in front of him.

“You should have seen Shao,” Jake continues, “dangling the prospect of revealing that in front of them, telling them that she would withdraw funds if they didn’t cooperate.”

Shao’s company, despite the not very minor setback, is still one of the most lucrative in the world, because it had a near monopoly. With the PPDC in shambles, Hermann supposed that the support of outside contractors was necessary to growth.

“That was risky. We need that money to do our work,” Hermann says, but he’s grateful.

“We’d have gone rogue,” Jake says with conviction. “All the best people would be willing.”

“We’d have done no such thing,” Nate cuts in, crossing his arms. “Because Shao knew the plan wouldn’t fail. No one involved in that sham council knew anything about how to run the PPDC, but their decision to make me Marshall put power back in the hands of the right people.”

“According to some people,” Jake adds slyly.

“Just think, if you’d have never gotten yourself kicked out, I may have had competition for the job, Pentecost.”

Hermann smiles between them. “We were talking about Newt, and how he’s gotten to this situation.”

“Right, well -”

“Doctor Gottlieb,” a voice calls from the entryway, and he knows without looking that Shao has entered the room. “I was told you had arrived earlier today. Welcome back.”

In the past months, her look has gotten softer, but still as impeccably imposing. Hermann is partially surprised that she’s still around after everything. Immediately after they’d stopped the apocalypse it made sense for her to try to undo some of the damage her company had done, but there must be something deeper keeping her around longer.

“Thank you, for the welcome back, and apparently for being willing to blackmail people for your… worst employee you’ve ever had.”

“Please, I didn’t do it for him.” She slips into the seat besides Hermann. “I did it for someone who values Doctor Geiszler very, very much.”

Hermann folds his hands on the table and stares at them to keep from blushing. He’s feeling too tired to control his reactions articulately. He’s moved that people would value him so much, but also that his weakness seems to be so openly on the metaphorical table. When he looks up, Nate’s looking a bit confused and the look on Jake’s face conveys something like “we’ll talk about this later,” and Hermann’s amused that everyone is treating this so delicately.

“For the record, I did not ask you all to help me escape with Newton because I am in love with him,” Hermann admits, because if it’s going to be talked about, he’s going to be the one starting the conversation. “I do not know if I would have done that for just anyone, but I did it because of my compassion for him, because of my belief in the fact that he is a good man, and he’s very valuable to us, both as the person who knows the most about the precursors and one of the world’s finest scientific minds.” He pauses. “But we are romantically involved with each other, so I ask for some privacy on that matter in this delicate time.”

“I suppose there is no accounting for taste,” Shao states, and while her tone is as even as always, Hermann knows she’s joking. “I don’t think the nature of your relationship should have any impact in how you are viewed.”

“Just don’t let it interfere with your work life,” Nate says, half as a warning, before he resumes eating his pie.

“That one has no room to talk there.” Jake rolls his eyes at him. “I’m happy for you, got it all sorted out. Now, we need to get some food in you and get you into a bed, as soon as possible.”

He wholeheartedly agrees with both of these ideas, and lets them ply him with mediocre mess hall food.

“I just need to know how you cured him. This time. Without hurting him,” he says, after his first swallow of pasta.

“Once Doctor Geiszler was in therapy,” Nate says, picking up the thread, “Shao had the brilliant idea to treat this like any other chronic problem.” He smiles at Shao across the table. “Of course, we can’t ever guarantee they won’t find a way to come back, but the predominant theory is that if the other impacts of that drift are being treated, and he doesn’t continue to drift, it’s likely that he’ll be without incident.”

“Besides, half of the doctors think he was cured fully through the… other thing they’ve done, and this was an isolated incident, brought on by sudden stress in his life,” Nate attempts to explain, very poorly.

This feels false, Hermann thinks, reaching for his neck instinctively. What he experienced was real and while he hates the thought that he alone could not keep Newt  safe from being taken over again, he hates the thought of Newt feeling guilty more. He hates the thought of Newt, even now, not knowing his own mind fully.

 

Rather than his old rooms, Hermann discovers he’s been reallocated closer to his workspace. The room is bigger and at first he questions why, before he realizes that there’s two beds in the room. It’s more or less a blessing that they’re not bunk beds. The beds will, obviously, need pushed together when the time comes, but he can’t imagine asking a group of teenagers to complete the task for him. Or maybe he can request another bed. That’s a problem for another day, he muses when he’s finally left alone, sinking down onto one of the beds. Once on it, without warning he drifts to sleep and doesn’t wake until well into the night.

Despite this, he still ventures a journey down to the medical ward. (First he showers and changes into more comfortable clothes- his old clothes which have been moved to the small wardrobe he’s been provided with) He must look a sight, heading through the halls dressed for a good night’s sleep. For one of the first times in this setting, he doesn’t care about appearances, that’s not the priority now.

Surprisingly, he gets through without any issue and knocks lightly on the door. He’s not given an answer, but the door gives way and he steps inside. The room is dark save for a desk lamp. Newt is slumped over at the desk and the immediate panic he feels is quelled by the tell tale sound of snoring. He touches Newt’s shoulder just gently enough to wake up. His face has a few faint marks from the fabric of his shirt and his glasses are pushed awkwardly up his face.

“Hey, Herms.” Newt stifles a yawn immediately. “Musta fallen asleep for a bit.”

“I apologize if you were waiting for me. I had fallen asleep myself, but I wanted to see you again.”

“If you’re tired still you can, uh - you can sleep here tonight.”

“Your bed is rather small, Newton. I’ve got two beds in my room. You should come with me.”

“I’m here -”

“You can come directly back in the morning. It’s not good to keep yourself locked away in a single room for so long.”

They leave the room together and no one tries to stop them. There’s a man guarding the door who seems shocked and who tries to shoot Hermann a warning glance, which he ignores. Thankfully, most of the base is asleep at this hour and while the few people that do see them are shocked, they don’t know enough of how to respond to say anything. It bodes well for the future. 

“I have some of your things here,” Hermann says, once they’re in the room. He gestures at their pile of luggage.

“Won’t be necessary.” Newt’s already stripping down to just his boxers, tossing his discarded clothes across the back of a desk chair. “So did you really bring me here to sleep in… separate beds?”

“They should line up if you push them together. Tomorrow I will inquire about procuring a larger bed for the room, but I didn’t want the official announcement of our relationship to be in context of sleeping together.”

“In the literal sense, not in the boinking way.”

“The implication is usually both, and i know you’re still using euphemisms to get a reaction from me. It will not work. It never has.”

They make  quick work of pushing together the two twin sized beds. It’s far from ideal, as there’s no blanket to cover the span of the bed and there’s an awkward crack in the middle, but it will do for one solitary night. They climb into the bed, paying no heed to any of these limitations, but only seeking closeness.

“You haven’t kissed me since you came here. I spent half of the afternoon doing that cheesy movie thing where I stare at your mouth,” Newt explains.

“Well, with you around kissing leads to… what’s that word you used? Boinking? Kissing leads to boinking and I didn’t want to do that in the medical bay.”

“And here?”

Hermann doesn’t answer, because within a moment he’s far too preoccupied by kissing him. Yes, he wants to do that here. He wants to do everything here, right where he is. But it’s really not about location, he’d do this wherever fate would throw the two of them and that was the point. A more sentimental man would go on about how home can be a person, not a place, but he’s too incredibly happy to think of anything like sentiment. Tomorrow he can wake up in the arms of the man he loves, go to do the job he loves best, and work on building a better future. That’s something.

Newt pulls away, casting his glasses aside. 

“And now?” he asks, and even in the dim light he looks so eagerly hopeful.

“Here and now.”

They fall asleep late into the night, exhausted and wrapped up in each other.


	9. Epilogue

_ two months later _

Admittedly, after having a lab to himself for a decade, it’s a rough adjustment to have someone else in the lab. For the first few weeks, Newt doesn’t even have the clearance to do any work in the lab, but apparently there’s no stopping the man. At first, Hermann thinks Newt may want to stay away, because of whatever reminders it may give. Newt insists that his therapist actually says it’s good to go back to work. If he has any trauma about digging around in the guts of a mega-kaiju that he was unknowingly responsible for, he doesn’t say anything about it. Hermann supposes science is the best way to distance oneself from their feelings. It worked for him for most of his life.

Eventually, others start to catch on about this work and they both fear that this is going to land them in some sort of trouble. Instead, they give Newt a job on the condition that Hermann supervises him on a probationary period. If it weren’t for Newt’s strong will, it would be more or less a dream for Hermann to be in charge of the lab as a whole. Oddly, though, he wouldn’t want to change anything about this. Not only do the kaiju guts in his space seem annoyingly familiar, but he doesn’t even find it as annoying as he once did - perhaps because in time he’s found his own fascination in the study.

In theory, with more shared interests they should get along better than ever before. In practice, they bicker the same as they always have, except it’s jarring in a whole new way. Everything around them is very new and unadjusted to their ways and many people in the dome know them simply in terms of more tender moments in the cafeteria or the hallways. Now, there’s shouting and disputes in the lab, and while the disagreements outside are always conducted with the tenderness of love, it still alarms anyone who finds their way into the lab.

Hermann doesn’t actually care what others think, though, because he’s working on a life he’s wanted for a very long time. Sometimes, he wishes they were still in the cottage in France when they fight a bit too loudly or Newt seems to be having a particularly bad day, but he also knows this is more beneficial to his recovery overall, especially with the care of a professional. Though he doesn’t tell Newt for a few weeks, Hermann goes to the therapist himself. It’s alright to take care of himself and he does just that.

There’s still oddly so much they’ve left behind in France, and he’s hoping to work through that. In some ways, it’s a challenge to reconcile the two lives they’ve lived and the other seems like it’s preserved under glass, for them to pick up and resume one day when they’re ready. The truth is, though, there’s still a question or a thought that needs answered or completed before Hermann can be fully content with the life he’s living now.

They’re both cleaning the lab for the night when he finally receives his answer. Newt’s just stripped off his gloves and tossed them away into the bin, signaling the end of his routine. Hermann waits by the door for him, resting both hands on his cane as he stands and watches.

“Can I talk to you about something, Newton?” he asks calmly.

“Dude, if you’re going to break up with me at least do it in the morning so I don’t have to go around begging for a place to sleep,” Newt jokes with just the barest hint of insecurity in his tone.

“Why would I be breaking up with you?”

“Could be because I spitefully poured kaiju blue on your paper earlier. Or because I tried to seduce you while you were doing math.”

“I have a hard and fast rule about romantic entanglements occuring while we work.”

“Yeah, and you’ve broken it twice this week, if I do recall.”

“Rules are made to be broken. On occasion.”

“What do you need to talk about, babe? Should we talk about it back in our room?”

“I just wanted to clarify a statement you made, back when we were living in France,” Hermann explains, taking a few steps towards him, meeting him in the middle.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that. You do know that I love to talk.”

“You made a comment about rings. Specifically about wearing them. What were your long-term intentions with that statement?”

Newt looks surprised for a moment, then he breaks out into a smile. “I think the point was to make everyone pretty solidly think that we’re married.”

“Do you want that? For everyone to think that we’re married to each other?”

“That’s sort of a complicated question, Herms. Marriage isn’t really a priority for me so long as I’m with a person but I also understand the social and cultural benefits of just telling everyone the dude you’re with is your husband.”

“Perhaps I’m phrasing myself poorly in this instance.”

Hermann reaches into his pocket and produces a small box. Rather than presenting it with any pomp or flourish, he presses it into Newt’s hand.

“No, I, uh -” Newt stammers, “I think I’m getting the message pretty clear here. When did you buy this?”

“When I was living in Germany. I suppose it was all in good faith that we’d be standing here one day.”

“That’s… kind of romantic of you. And yeah, I’ll wear this. When we actually do the thing. I don’t mean I want to wear it in the symbolic way, you know. I really sort of do want to marry the shit out of you, even if marriage is a sham.”

“Don’t be so uncouth about this, Newton.”

He’s smiling despite himself and in a few moments, Newt is kissing him softly, and then with intent. He’ll have to stop him soon, because he knows full well Newt has a keen fascination with attempts at amorous behavior in this particular room. Or maybe he’ll just keep kissing him until he’s certain he’s had enough. 

That’s not likely to happen, of course, because there’s never going to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned at the beginning, find me on tumblr @ [pendragoff](http://pendragoff.tumblr.com). Feel free to come to my inbox with questions or prompts.
> 
> Many thanks to you, lovely readers.


End file.
